V is for Vicissitudes
by EnigmaSphinx
Summary: Follows the Verisimilitude story. A wedding approaches, a relationship develops, an evil resurfaces. What defines strength and fragility?
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: Hello, Nice People! We're back again, to spin a little mischief and some pain into the lives of those we love and torment. We left the last story with dangling bits and I suppose we should knit them up a bit. This story is an attempt at some real effort in the areas of ensemble casting. Bear with me if I stray from the programme sometimes.- As with my previous tale, this reposting of content is an effort to clear up some editing issues and to smooth out places in the tale that simply didn't meet my standards. As mentioned above, the writing pace was harried and hectic and left little time for proper focus. I hope that you will enjoy the posting of the corrected manuscript as much as I have enjoyed the editing process. -ES

Disclaimer: I own nothing of V. Both the movie and the GN are the sole property of their creators and I but hope to pay homage to a tale I could have wished to write. This is pale fare in comparison to the originals.

* * *

**V is for Vicissitudes**

Spring had come to Gallowsmere and behind it trailed summer. The garden was in full bloom, flowers everywhere one looked, and the house seemed cheerier than ever before. Bright curtains lit up the many windows with color and the freshly pebbled drive was pristinely white. The gate stood open in invitation.

Eric Finch sat behind the wheel of his car, the engine idling, and stared at the image before him.

Stephen and Evey were planning their upcoming wedding and he was to play the part of best man, a role that sometimes astonished him. Considering that Stephen had been the dreaded vigilante V, Eric wondered at their friendship and at the camaraderie that now existed between them, since Eric had been heavily concerned with trying to bring the man to justice under the reign of Norsefire. Stephen hadn't seemed to hold a grudge about the situation and he certainly applauded Eric's efforts to keep Evey safe as England changed back to the nation it had been before the outbreak of the St. Mary's Virus. The events of several months before had brought the two men a sense of closure and a shared concern for the well-being of the new regime. Stephen was a far better friend than enemy, Eric mused, and Evey seemed happier than Eric had ever seen her before. The invitation to visit Gallowsmere, Stephen's home, was a long standing one, recently refreshed in the light of the approaching nuptials and Eric had finally run out of excuses to demur. He sat at the mouth of the drive and studied the house, wondering how his friends were.

He only needed to drive up the lane to find out.

He couldn't quite make himself do it and he mentally cursed the annoying voice in the back of his head that said he really hadn't come to see Stephen and Evey about their upcoming wedding, which is why he'd been invited. He wanted to see someone else, the dark-haired girl with the chocolate eyes…

He ground his teeth in frustration.

The girl was staying with Stephen and Evey.

The girl was often on his mind, a topic he rarely allowed his errant thoughts the liberty of contemplating. The pretty face that framed the sweet chocolate eyes had haunted him through the long months since that day in London as did the sadness in those deep brown eyes as she stared down at him, her prim voice reminding him quietly that she was going to hurt him. Those memories had not faded, just as the rash of scars on the inner flesh of his arms had not; the smattering of little circular scars a permanent testament to their connection. Even now, he caught himself touching them through the thin cotton of his shirt, fingers ferreting out the raised lumps like a blind man seeking some meaning in Braille. He closed his eyes, willing the rapid pounding of his heart to slow but without much success. He knew it, knew too that she had a permanent reminder of him as well.

He knew she had the same scars.

Stephen had offered to have them removed or covered and Eric had refused. He kept them as a reminder. They had healed fairly quickly and he didn't mind them really. They were just there, (_as the memory of their maker was_) ever-present and unobtrusive, badges to an event that no one truly understood. He didn't really understand it, except that he had endured the creation of each one by watching the agony in their creator's eyes deepen as her faith in him grew, her trust that he would last, had filled him with the determination to hold on until Stephen arrived. He'd done it too, despite the pain, despite the fear. The Inspector felt possessive of the marks as a result; they were a testament to a moment in his life when he had truly done something heroic.

He wasn't feeling quite so heroic right now, sitting in his car at the end of the lane, afraid to come face to face with Clarissa.

_I like the way you say my name._

His breath hitched in his lungs.

She lived in that house, he knew, and he couldn't help but wonder how she would react to seeing him again. He had no idea how he would feel at seeing her but not a night went by that he didn't dream of the damned chair, of the rancid scent of burning flesh, his attention not on the pain but on the girl who inflicted it. He knew he needed to see her again, if only to let go of that little eternity in the chair and to free himself of the sense that he was still there, bound to her whim. He turned the car into the lane and drove up to the house before he could convince himself not to.

Stephen's car was in the drive, as was Evey's runabout, but there was another car, a mini that Eric didn't recognize. Eric parked, frowning at it. He got out of the car and made his way up to the back porch. Evey would have already known he was coming; the security on the house was unobtrusive and impressive. Sure enough, the back door opened and Evey grinned up at him.

"Hello, Eric," she said. "I'm so glad you came!"

She glowed with happiness, her hair grown past her shoulders and her slender body comfortably dressed in khaki slacks and a forest green blouse. Eric smiled down at her, pleased to see her looking so…fulfilled. "Hullo, Evey." She leaned up and kissed his cheek, her hands clasping his.

"Come in," she urged, pulling him into the hallway. Eric submitted to her wishes and they ended up in the kitchen as they had the first time they'd come to this house nearly a year before. "You're looking well, Eric. How is London? And Dominic?" She grinned. "Would you like some tea?" She urged him to be seated as she busied herself with the kettle.

"London is busy," he answered with a smile. "Dominic is doing well; he's probably going down the aisle a few months after you and Stephen." He looked at the pretty tablecloth under his hands. "Tea would be nice," he said after a moment. "I didn't stop on the way out here."

She set the kettle on the stove at once then busied herself with the pot and cups. "I'm glad you're here, Eric. I've missed you these past few months." She looked up, eyes sparkling. "Stephen will be so surprised. We know you've been busy and we haven't wanted to make demands on your time."

Eric shrugged, embarrassed by her pleasure. He'd not been as busy as they thought. He'd delayed coming out, knowing she was here, knowing how slow the healing process was… He swallowed, remembering the blood that stained her mouth when she'd said his name last, then banished the image and forced a smile. "It's my pleasure, Evey."

The kettle shrilled. A light footstep behind him made the hair on the back of his neck rise in terrible anticipation. He forced himself not to turn, not to look. Evey looked up, smiling. "Oh, Mim, did you want some tea?" Eric frowned at the name, not recognizing it.

From behind him, a man's voice spoke softly, the tone effeminate. "Evey, my dear girl, you have a guest. Is there enough for three?" Eric looked over his shoulder, finding a slender man standing there, dressed in a tweed jacket despite the summer heat. The man smiled at Eric, a slightly predatory gleam in his eye. "I'm Mim Baker," he said, offering his hand. Eric shook his hand, frowning. "You are?"

"Oh, sorry," Eric started, puzzled by this new person. "Inspector Finch, Eric Finch."

Mim's eyes widened. "The Eric?" he said, his tone turning a trifle wary. He glanced at Evey, his expression turning to concern. "Where's the Princess, lovey?"

"Running with Stephen," Evey replied. "Eric came up after they'd been gone a bit."

Mim nodded thoughtfully. "If you don't mind, I'll take my tea in the arbor today." He smiled at Eric, suddenly detached. "Sorry to interrupt your chat." He collected his teacup and departed the kitchen, leaving them alone. Eric looked at Evey.

"Mim?" he asked in disbelief. Evey put a cup before him and one before herself.

"Mim," she said. "He's staying here at Gallowsmere for a while. While he's a bit eccentric, he's a highly qualified therapist." She grew serious. "He's working with Clarissa, Eric. She's had a hard time coming to terms with…things."

_Things?_ Eric considered the comment and Evey's hesitation without reply_. Therapist?_ _Working with?_ Mim had called him 'the Eric'… Had Clarissa discussed him with the man? A flash of movement on the far end of the property drew his attention and he craned his neck to see what it was. Evey noticed and she turned in her seat as her face lit up.

"Here they come now."

Two figures in black paced one another, the smaller one running with the same easy fluid grace as the taller. There were similarities in the way they moved and Eric felt a pang at the thought of the terrible injuries both had suffered in their lives. Amazing that it hadn't crippled either of them. As he watched, the figures came almost to the end of the garden then noticed his car. The smaller figure halted at the edge of the garden. He could almost make out her face, not that he couldn't conjure it from memory. Stephen leaned toward her, concern in his stance. He laid a hand on his companion and she pulled away sharply.

A slender figure, Mim, appeared in the corner of the garden. He waved to Stephen, speaking animatedly. Stephen nodded and started through the garden toward the house, something reluctant in his movements. Eric watched silently as Mim addressed the slender figure in black. It wavered then entered the garden and followed Mim with heavy steps, presumably to the arbor.

Stephen came into the house, not even breathing hard. Evey grinned at him. "Surprised?" she asked playfully. Stephen picked up a towel and mopped his face before giving her a kiss. "Is Clarissa coming in?"

"Not just yet," Stephen said, a look passing from him to his wife-to-be. "Mim's got her for the moment." He shook Eric's hand. "Good to see you, Eric. I'm glad you came."

"Thank you, Stephen." Eric glanced toward the window. He couldn't resist asking the question on his mind, knowing that he'd never focus on anything else until he did. "How is she?"

"Recovering." Stephen shrugged, watching Evey pick up her cup but not really seeing her. "Physically: her endurance is up, I think she's almost her old self again." He hooked a chair and sank into it. "Mentally...well... another story that. She has problems still, things from her past that she can't reconcile with. While she and I have gotten better around each other, it isn't easy…" He shrugged. "She has her days."

* * *

"Mim." Clarissa looked toward her counselor and found the damned man was watching two butterflies fluttering through the garden. "Mim!"

"I heard you." He flicked her a sideways glance, his expression neutral. "What is it?"

"Did you see him?" She bit her lip at the eagerness in her tone, glancing away again. "How does he look?"

The second question was more modulated, casual, but still out of character for her, Mim knew. He looked away himself, hiding the suspicious glint in his eyes. "Who... Oh! The Exalted Eric, you mean?" Mim gestured vaguely and sniffed. "Not my style, sweetie."

Clarissa glanced toward the house wistfully. "Is he... well?"

"He walked in on his own two legs, Princess..."

"Don't call me that." Clarissa scowled. "You know..." She hesitated. "Does he look...?" She fell silent, hands resting in her lap, her eyes upon the house as a stillness fell over her. Mim sighed.

"You won't believe me, no matter what I say," he replied practically. "If you really want to know, you can go in and see for yourself."

She recoiled at the statement, her face turning white. "He won't…" she gasped. "He won't…" The words strangled in her throat, one hand lifting desperately to her neck.

"Breathe." Mim watched her. "Breathe." When she couldn't seem to get any air, he laid a hand on her arm. "Breathe, Princess."

She heaved in a great gasp of air. "Don't call…me…that!"

"C'mon, sweetie, you know I love you, don't you?" He patted her hand. "Keep breathing."

His touch was gentle but she pulled away. "Don't, Mim," she warned. "Too much."

"Having a bad day, dear?" Mim asked sympathetically. "Why don't you be a love and close your eyes for me?"

"No." She shook her head. At his speculative look, she turned away. "I…I don't feel safe."

"It is a bad day if you'll admit to it." He studied her. "Is it Eric? You seemed to be having a good time with Stephen."

She shrugged reluctantly. "Running is good. He has more stamina than I do." Her tone turned slightly sulky. "He knows it too."

"Does that offend you?"

"It stings."

Mim laughed lightly. "Another confession? Two in one day is a record, Princess."

She looked at the house, her expression visible to Mim's sharp gaze. "Did he look…" She broke off the question. Mim waited. "Did he look well?"

"Quite hearty," Mim replied. Clarissa looked at her hands where they lay in her lap. They were twisting the edge of her sweatshirt restlessly.

"Good." She slid off her chair, her body taut. "I need… I need…"

Mim watched her shifting from foot to foot, knowing she was a hairsbreadth from bolting. He leaned forward. "Tell me, Princess, what is it?"

She turned toward him and Mim was astonished at the terrible vulnerability on a face than rarely broke from its guarded mask. Her eyes were enormous suddenly, full of confusion and ghosts. "I want… I want to touch him again," she whispered. The words hung in the air, fragile as mist but holding her in place. Mim nodded.

"What's stopping you, sweetheart?"

She blinked and the spell broke. Spinning on one foot, she fled the garden and raced along the lawn back toward the trees. Mim sighed and went back into the house.

* * *

Conversation in the kitchen stopped the moment he entered the kitchen alone. Stephen's face darkened and Mim nodded to him. "She's gone back to the trees." The dark haired man started to rise but Mim shook his head. "No, leave her for now. There's nothing up there that will hurt her." He glanced at the policeman, noticing how the man was carefully studying his teacup. "She made three admissions," he continued. "Part of the reason she ran, I think."

"Three?" Evey echoed in surprise.

"Three," Mim agreed. "And I am thinking that it is because The Eric is here." The policeman looked up, his face as expressionless as Clarissa often was. Mim noticed that the man's shirt sleeves did nothing to hide a series of scars, scars Mim knew well from weeks in Clarissa's company. The therapist in him noted it for future reference. "I cannot violate my client's privacy, you understand, but I think that you should be aware of something important about her, Inspector Finch." He leaned against the counter. "Clarissa is very unique. Her sensory capacity is through the roof, which is to say that that she is nearly constantly bombarded by input. I can only assume that the toxin she was fed constantly dulled some of it and made life among other people tolerable. Since the injury, she has suffered more that she should have. Because of her heightened senses and her background, she often muddles the line between emotional and physical input. It's a line she's just beginning to understand now."

"I don't see your point," Eric said stiffly. Mim looked at Evey for help. She laid a hand on Eric's arm.

"Remember how Atherton punished her?"

A muscle jumped in Eric's jaw. Mim noticed the man's posture change and realized that the Inspector felt something strongly with regards to Clarissa. "I remember," Eric said brusquely.

"Clarissa cannot quite comprehend that there was a difference between the physical abuse and the emotional agony she was subjected to." Mim hesitated. "I could not help but notice the scars on your arms, Inspector. They are very like…"

"Hers." Eric looked up, his eyes bleak. "They happened at the same time, yes."

"Her work, I gather?"

Eric hesitated, folding his arms across his chest. "Yes," he said softly. "One for one." Mim nodded from his vantage point.

"And do you hate her for it?" Eric looked up again, his expression suddenly as vulnerable as Clarissa's had been. Mim shook his head. "No, please, don't answer me. I should not have asked you that." He looked at Stephen. "I think you will have to fetch her after all, Stephen. This may be the key we've been searching for."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: I should be working on my novel. Should be, but instead I am sitting here, knowing that my long-suffering husband is going to become apoplectic when he finds me scribbling another V fic. sigh I can't help it, I swear. I just had to…continue. I am sooo in trouble when he finds out. ---edited, posted 10/31/07. Edited for errors and continuity. Everyone having a good day? ES

Disclaimer: I do not own my play toys, I just pilfer them for excursions into a delirium's daydream, my own feverish imaginations. No money exchanges hands, this is all pretend.

**Shattered Souls and Broken Bodies**

Stephen jogged up to the tree line, looking for some sign of Clarissa's passage. As she was usually careful to hide her trail, being overly cautious of her safety, he was surprised to find a visible track that announced her hurried rush into the shelter of the trees.

He followed the track warily.

If she were upset enough to act so unlike her usual self, then she might be unpredictable when they met up. The path cut deep into the woods and, suddenly, was gone. Stephen glanced around, finding no sign of his niece. When his gaze lifted to the trees, he spotted her almost at once, sitting on a wide branch about fifteen feet up a sturdy oak. She looked down at him, her expressionless face pale.

"Hello, Clarissa," he said lightly. "Comfortable?"

She didn't smile politely (a bad sign) but there was no hostility in her gaze (which was a good one). She leaned her head back against the trunk of the tree, still watching him, and made no move to come down. Stephen lifted a hand toward her.

"May I come up?"

In answer, she drew her legs back to give him room on the branch. He nodded and scaled the tree easily. The tree was one he and V had climbed as boys and it seemed fitting that Clarissa might find some solace in its ancient branches. He sat facing her, about three feet between them, and they looked at one another in silence.

Clarissa's face was as enigmatic as his Guy Fawkes mask sometimes.

Even now, she sat in what appeared to be comfort, her features perfectly composed. Stephen once would have thought that she was incapable of emotion, his own expansive nature stonewalled by the total lack of responsiveness on her face. Months with Mim's help and he could see the fine tremors in her body, the tilt of her head slightly away from him, and her paleness as signs of the emotional turmoil she felt but could not express. "Will you talk to me?"

She bowed her head, the loose brown hair tumbling forward like a curtain shutting out the light. Stephen waited silently. He knew not to rush her now. Their relationship was becoming more solid as he learned what she could and could not do. Confiding was hard, fighting was easy. Physical punishment was easy, emotional retribution was often devastating.

"Mim sent you." Her voice was soft, almost inaudible. "He is going to force…"She fell silent again but her shoulders shook in a silent sob. Stephen's heart cracked a little.

"Can I come to you?" he asked gently. She didn't answer but one hand lifted a little toward him. He scooted forward on the branch until he could touch her, laying hands on her carefully. She was weeping, he realized, as she shuddered under his fingers.. "Ah, little one," he said to her, his voice thick with sorrow. "What is it?"

She clutched at him suddenly, her hands clenching in his shirt and pulling him close. He was shocked when her face pressed against his shoulder, the tears falling silently, and she leaned against him. He eased an arm around her, laying it lightly across her shoulders. Clarissa rarely ever permitted physical contact and almost never initiated it. Stephen knew that any stimulation, whether emotional or physical, could often send the girl spiraling back into her withdrawn state.

"Tell me, little one," he whispered. "Tell me how to help you."

In reply, she sobbed harder. Helplessly, he stroked her hair, murmuring to her until the tempest began to fade. When her tears stopped, she pulled away abruptly, her posture full of shame. "I'm sorry." The words were thick with grief. She wouldn't look at him.

"Why?" Easy to be tender with her when reminded of how fragile she was under the thick layers of defensive fury she so often displayed. It had taken months for him to see it but it came easier with time. Now, however, it was in the forefront, unmistakable. "What are you sorry for?"

She raised her head, her eyes finding his. In her eyes, he read the things she could not bring herself to say and he realized that Mim was right. Eric's arrival had brought up things Clarissa had not even begun to touch upon. She looked away. "Clarissa," he said to her seriously. "Everything will be alright."

She sighed and looked away. "I have to go back, don't I?" There was no inflection in her voice, only heavy resignation. "Mim wants you to bring me back to the house." She shivered. "He's still there."

"Of course he is! Mim is worried... that you'll hurt yourself by pushing too hard."

She slanted a look at him. "You really don't lie well without the mask," she said, the words flat. "Mim wants to see what will happen when…" She shook her head. "What if I refuse?"

Stephen hesitated again, judging her state. "I would rather not force you, Clarissa. I don't want to be your enemy, I like being your friend better, but I am told this is best for you. I want you to heal, even if you can't see it as healing."

"Like a surgeon cuts into healthy flesh to remove disease," she mused, one hand touching the sweatshirt over her belly. "Is that what this is like?"

"I expect so." He didn't like the analogy. She heaved a sigh.

"I don't want to go," she said slowly. "And I do, at the same time." She looked up, confusion in her dark brown eyes. "I don't like this, Uncle Stephen. I feel like the world is breaking into pieces."

He fought not to show on his face the surprise he felt. She never called him Uncle. Never acknowledged any familial connection to him, not once in all the time they'd spent together. "No matter how much it breaks, Clarissa," he promised. "It will mend. We will help you mend it again."

She hesitated, holding his eyes, then dropped out of the tree, landing lightly in the brown leaves below. Stephen joined her a moment later. He waited on her to make the first move.

She was sheltered behind her mask of flesh again, her face composed and cool. She offered him her hand. He accepted it, wrapping his hand around hers. "Just to the edge of the woods," she warned. "After that, I don't think…"

"To the edge of the woods," he agreed, cutting her off. "I understand."

-

-

-

Back at the house

Eric's nerves were on edge. For him, the minutes since Stephen had gone in search of Clarissa dragged by with agonizing slowness. He glanced out the kitchen window again. Mim was chatting easily with Evey, but his voice grated on Eric's ears, interrupting the policeman's focus upon the field behind the house. Eric sat stiffly in his chair and it came as a shock when Mim addressed him directly.

"Inspector, it may take some time before they get back." Eric looked up, his expression dark as he took in Mim's attention. "Why don't you go into the garden and smoke your pipe? You'll find it a bit easier to relax, I expect."

Eric nodded, his hand going to the pipe in his pocket. "That would be nice," he said then paused. "How did you know I smoke a …?"

Mim shook his head. "You're a smart man," he scolded. "Think about it."

In the garden, Eric filled his pipe and lit it, puffing deeply to get the tobacco lit properly. He considered what Mim had said. Stephen knew he smoked, of course, as did Clarissa. That Mim would not speak of it meant Clarissa had told him. He pondered that unhappily.

She'd talked about him to the other man then. What had she said?

He found a place in the arbor, a new addition to the garden and leaned back in his seat, legs crossed as he forced himself to relax. Not an easy prospect when his stomach was in knots. She'd run at the knowledge he was in the house. Perhaps he should go back to London and leave her in peace. She'd obviously healed physically. The emotional healing might go better if he kept his distance…

He felt the pipe stem groan between his teeth and forced his jaw to unclench.

His memory replayed the hour in the chair; each burn she'd dealt him, his horror when she'd dealt herself one for each in return. She'd held his life in her hands and she'd dared a hideous punishment to do as little damage as possible to him. He could remember her fingers in his hair, feel the delicate touch (as gentle as a lover's) as she apologized for the pain. She couldn't have known that he would have braved any of the instruments on the table to keep her being given to the mass rape of the Elite Fingermen.

"Inspector?"

Mim stood before him, concern in his bright eyes. Eric mentally shook himself free from his memories. "Yes?"

"Are you feeling better?" The man's eyes were kind but Eric didn't like him.

This was Clarissa's confidante, not someone Eric felt the need to like or trust. It almost felt like Clarissa had a lover in the slender man, although Eric knew that it wasn't likely. _And why did that thought make him want to strangle Mim?_ Eric nodded, disinclined to make small talk with the stranger. Mim smiled.

"Good. I think it would be best for you to remain here when Clarissa arrives." He spread his arms out. "Lots of open space, should the Princess find the meeting difficult. I've learned not to cage her when I don't have to." Mim leaned against the edge of the arbor. "I somehow think you already understand how little she likes confinement."

She'd discussed the cell in the Shadow Gallery? Eric lowered his pipe, wondering if there was anything this stranger didn't know. "Only when she's alone," he said sharply. "It's the solitude she's afraid of."

Mim nodded. "Being alone can be frightening," he agreed. His blue eyes sharpened upon Eric's face. "Were you alone in the chair?" he asked suddenly.

Eric said nothing but his expression made the smaller man hurry to continue. "No, she's never spoken of it, Inspector, but I have talked with Evey at length about her experiences however." Mim's voice lowered, becoming less effeminate. "It must have been a harrowing experience for all of you."

"Stephen arrived in time." Eric put the pipe back in his mouth and said no more. Mim sighed.

"Yes, well, if you think so."

Before Eric could ask what he meant, there was a rustle at the gate and Stephen entered the garden, Clarissa beside him. The tousled brown hair was loose over her shoulders, her face pale above the somber black shirt. Eric's breath caught in his throat at the sight of her and she caught sight of him at the same moment. Their eyes met and the months fell away until they were back in the workroom. Eric felt himself bound to his seat, unable to look away from Clarissa.

Her expression was as easy to read as a book, he thought in amazement. How could anyone not see her pain?

He hoped to God he hadn't put that look in her eyes. If he had, he'd leave at once.

She drifted toward him, never taking her eyes off his face. What did she see, he wondered. She came closer and her hand lifted dreamily toward his cheek.

He shivered at the touch of her cool fingers on his temple, then held his breath as her fingers threaded through his hair. The sensation sent a thrill through him, an electric awareness that knotted in his belly, writhing with dark pleasure, remembered pain.

Clarissa leaned closer still. The scent of her hair mingled with the rich odor of his tobacco as Eric looked up at her and their eyes held. She seemed about to speak but the shadows in her eyes grew suddenly darker. He knew she was about to run, felt it in the faint tremor of her fingers in his hair and his heart throbbed sharply in denial.

He covered her hand with his. Not to hold her, just to touch her. "Don't leave me," he begged softly. She shivered at the sound of his voice, her face shocked. "Don't run, Clarissa. I can't follow."

She blinked back the sudden tears that rose in her eyes. "Eric." A wealth of emotion in that one word, too much to explain and just enough that he knew exactly how she felt. His fingers stroked her hand.

"I'll go if you wish me to." He hated making the offer but it was only right. This was her home. "Do you want me to leave you?"

She paled, a feat he didn't think she could pull off again, she was so white now. "Oh!" She whispered. "Eric, no." She sank to the ground before him, kneeling at his feet. "I'll stay if you want me to." Her hand turned in his until they were palm to palm, fingers interlaced. "Are you sure, Eric?"

His hand shook in hers. "Please, stay."

It took all his strength not to let his voice shake as badly as his fingers did, tangled with hers. She looked up at him and he felt it pass between them, that same feeling he'd had in the chair. She'd needed him to be strong and he'd needed her to give him hope when the world seemed hopeless. "Just for a little while, if you..." His voice failed him but she nodded.

"If you want me to," she whispered.

She crowded against his legs, still holding his hand, and sat on the ground beside his feet. He closed his eyes as she settled against him, his heart lurching a little at her trust. Her head leaned against his knee. "Your pipe will go out," she whispered. "Don't let it go to waste."

He set the pipe to his lips obediently and pulled at it, eyes closed, feeling more than content with the moment.

-

-

-

Mim and Stephen stood in the kitchen again. The smaller man was grinning and Stephen looked down at him, a little dumbstruck. "Did you know that would happen?"

Mim shrugged. "I rather hoped it would," he said, very quietly. "I doubt they even know we've left them." He sighed. "She has very strong feelings about Mr. Finch, which is why she rarely speaks to me about him. He is too close to her heart, Stephen. The other... things, issues, aren't as overwhelming to her." He shrugged then peeped out the window. "I didn't tell Inspector Finch that and his reaction was more than a bit jealous." When he looked up at Stephen, his expression darkened.

"This is just the calm before the storm, you know. Finding out that he feels deeply for her as well may awaken a number of things in Clarissa that could jeopardize her recovery. On the other hand, it may push her heal more quickly. Either way, it is a gamble, Stephen. Are you willing to risk the friendship of either of them?"

"If it is what she needs to heal, we will manage whatever comes." Stephen tucked his hands in his pockets. "She initiated contact in the trees, Mim; she touched me of her own volition. She also called me uncle. She hasn't done that before." He leaned against the counter. "For a moment, she was off guard. I saw it."

"Even better. " Mim smiled at his employer. "This is a huge house, Stephen. Perhaps you should consider…" He laid out a plan to Stephen quickly. Stephen listened and then nodded.

"I shall speak to Evey first, of course," Stephen said. "She has a right to vote on it." He shifted his weight. "Thank you, Mim."

"Anything for the Princess," Mim replied cheerfully. "It's far past time she evicts the nightmares from her closet and I rather think that the Inspector might just be the man to serve them the notice."


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Notes: Well, the long-suffering husband knows now what he is up against. LOL. He's a good lad and after spending 19 years with me, knows when to scold and when to fold. He's letting me live, which I suppose is all the encouragement I need, and he hasn't sold my copy of V4V on eBay, so I think I'm safe. For JMax, who asked.---edited and posted 10/31/07. Edited for flow and continuity. ES

Disclaimers: I don't own them; I'll say it over and over. It won't stop me playing with them, of course, I am not that repentant, but I really have no rights to any of the characters of V for Vendetta, with GN or Movieverse. This endeavor is just for fun.

**Silence is Golden**

Stephen started dinner before going upstairs to wake his lover.

Evey tired easily lately, due largely in part to the effort of nearly single-handedly turning Gallowsmere back into a home. She was always busy with something, her trim figure rushing from one floor to another as she transformed each room into a welcoming place, filling them with light and color.

As Stephen entered the master bedroom, he paused to look at her where she slept on his side of the bed, her face burrowed into his pillow. He felt his heart trip with joy, the realization that she was well and truly his filling him with more light than the house could ever hold.

He slipped up to the bed and leaned over her, breathing in the scent of her perfume before easing onto the edge of the bed behind her to nudge her over gently. She protested faintly and he grinned, lowering his mouth to the oh-so-delectable curve of her neck. A moment later, he felt her stir and he continued with his ministrations diligently. Her hand reached behind her back, seeking an entirely different target. She found it easily, her fingers caging him as he sucked in a sharp gasp of pleasure.

"Was there a reason you woke me up?" she purred, her voice his favorite sound. He chuckled against her skin.

"Up seems to be the operative word, love."

She laughed, the husky sound sending a shiver of delight through him. "Well?" she asked when he didn't move. "Have I missed something?" She turned her head to look over her shoulder.

"Eric is still here," he reminded her regretfully. "I believe he is staying for dinner." She frowned, turning to face him, keeping her hand where it was.

"He is?" She studied Stephen's expression. "There's more to that, I take it."

"I wasn't questioning your powers of observation," he said slowly, earning a twitch of her wrist that made him tremble. "Yes, he's in the garden with Clarissa."

"Oh." She mulled that over. "Is this a bad thing?"

"Mim doesn't think so." He leaned over and kissed her. "I wish you'd seen it, Evey."

"What happened?"

"When I found her in the trees, she'd climbed the big oak, the one I showed you before." Evey nodded. "She let me join her and when she was upset, she let me comfort her…"

"Oh, Stephen," she said happily. "She did?"

"Yes. She reached for me and, while she cried, she let me hold her." He reached out to touch Evey's face, his attention on his memories. "She came back on her own and I confess I was worried about how she would react to Eric, but when she saw him, she…" He shook his head, eyes closing at the memory of the moment that had passed between Eric and Clarissa. "Ah, Evey, she went to him and touched him. When she would have run, he asked her to stay." He opened his eyes, wonder in their green depths. "She was sitting at his feet when we came inside."

"She touched him?" Evey's eyes went wide. "She didn't run again?"

Stephen shook his head. Evey contemplated the image in her mind's eye, more than a little shocked by it. "Oh, Stephen, she really must be getting better then?"

"Mim thinks we should ask Eric to stay here for a little while. He thinks that Eric's presence might push Clarissa to heal faster. Do you think Eric might consider it?" He searched her face. "Did you get the impression that he feels something for her?"

"I think he feels something, yes," she said slowly. "But asking him to stay at Gallowsmere is a bit presumptuous. He'd have to take a leave from his work, it's too far to commute." She nibbled her lower lip, a nervous habit Stephen adored. He leaned forward and captured her mouth, kissing her senseless to save her poor lip more abuse. She pulled back, swatting him lightly. "You're distracting me." He grinned unrepentantly. "You said she was sitting with him? Are they still out there?" She removed her hand from his trousers, eliciting a small moan of disappointment. "Later, bad boy," she said mock-sternly. "We have a niece to worry about and a friend to invite for a vacation."

He smiled as she rolled out of bed, reluctantly following her example and putting his feet on the floor. "She called me Uncle," he confided jubilantly.

She tossed him a smile as she went into the connected bath, knowing that he often despaired over Clarissa's emotional detachment. He loved the girl and felt some connection to her because of Evelyn, but Clarissa was a grab bag of issues. She was as likely to kick you as to kiss you, given her mood at the time. Evey peered out the window, its placement giving her a clear view of the arbor. Eric sat in the place she'd seen him last but now a dark figure sat beside his feet, her head resting against his knee. Clarissa seemed to be holding his hand. Evey felt a pang at the sight.

"You're spying." The voice over her shoulder made her jump. She barely suppressed her yelp of surprise and turned to swat Stephen. He craned his neck to look past her. "They haven't moved."

"How long have they been out there?"

Stephen checked his watch. "Going on two hours." He shook his head. "Mim says it's not going to be fast, Evey, but if Eric has this sort of influence on her, it has to be better than what we've been doing."

Evey looked down at them again, feeling the tingle of tears behind her eyes. "I've never seen her like that," she whispered. "She's…resting."

"Shall I ask him?"

"Let me," she said, turning to him. "I'll talk to him."

-

-

-

Eric had long since finished his pipe.

It sat beside him, almost forgotten, as his free hand stroked Clarissa's hair. She leaned against his legs, one hand in his, her other resting in her lap. He suspected she had fallen asleep but he didn't want to disturb her.

It was enough to be sitting with her, soaking in her warmth and her nearness. He closed his eyes, grateful to whatever powers had insured that she survived the terrible injuries of that day in Avery's hell. He'd seen her only once or twice since then, her doctors thinking that the reminder of his scars might cause her to sink deeper into despair. After that, she'd been taken to Gallowsmere and her recovery had been fraught with problems. Eric was glad he'd come today, if for nothing else than this interlude.

It seemed as though a weight was off his shoulders. Sitting in this garden, right now, with her beside him, was sweet, like the memory of his wife and son. There was never a time that he could put them out of his mind completely and the same was true of Clarissa.

She was young and hurt, capable of savagery, but not out of the darkness of her nature. He believed that with his whole heart. She'd done things because she wanted to survive and she had survived. Despite brutal treatment, despite impossible conditions, she had endured the horror of her life among the Fingermen and it hadn't destroyed her. He respected her strength and loathed the monster who had tried hard to make her a monster too.

The door of the house opened and closed. Clarissa didn't move and neither did Eric. He watched as the tall form of Stephen and the smaller figure of Evey came into the garden. They approached together and Eric kept stroking Clarissa's hair as he waited for them to draw near. A few feet away, they stopped. Stephen said "Clarissa?" in a soft voice. She did not move. He said it again but she still didn't respond. Evey exchanged glances with Stephen. Eric tugged lightly on a lock of the girl's hair.

"Clarissa?"

Her head lifted at once. "Eric?" She turned to look at him, chocolate eyes soft. "What is it?"

"Your uncle wants you." He jerked his chin toward Stephen. Clarissa looked in Stephen's direction, stiffening a little as she noticed him standing with Evey. .

"Yes?" Stephen smiled at her.

"Will you be kind enough to come inside and help me in the kitchen? It's your turn, you know."

She inclined her head. "Of course." She hesitated, looking back at Eric. "You are staying?"

Evey nodded to Eric from behind the girl, head bobbing vigorously.

"Yes, I am," he answered. She slowly took her hand from his and got to her feet, before accompanying Stephen inside the house. When the door had shut, Evey came to sit beside Eric in the arbor.

"Thank you," she said before he could speak. "You have no idea what you've done." she continued. "She was so…peaceful with you." She leaned back in her chair, sighing. "Oh, Eric, you've no idea how long we've waited for a moment where she isn't fighting the whole world off. If we'd known you were what we needed, we'd have stolen you from London long ago."

"I was afraid I would hurt her," he said quietly. "I'm glad I didn't."

She turned her face to him, looking at him for a long moment. "You feel something for her." It wasn't a question. He looked at the ground, embarrassed by the truth of it. She laid a hand on his arm. "I'm not criticizing you, Eric. It's just… I need to know."

"Yes." He said it so quietly that she wasn't certain he's spoken. "I think about her every day, Evey. I've tried not to, she's so young, but I can't…" He sought the right words. "There isn't a day where I don't pause and wonder about how she is, if she is healing, if she is happy. I know she's safe with you and Stephen but I... wanted to see for myself."

"She's fine physically. The doctors released her medically some months ago." Evey shook her head wearily. "It's the emotional part we have difficulty with. She has what the doctors call post traumatic stress syndrome. She cannot or will not deal with the past and it eats her alive, Eric. She fights everything all the time, mostly herself. To see her so calm and relaxed is a side of her we have never known."

He looked up at the woman and saw the sadness in her eyes. "Never?" he asked. In his heart, he felt a little burst of joy, that he could give her what no one else had.

"Never, Eric." Evey laid a hand on his arm and her attitude was serious. "With that in mind, I want to ask you for a huge favor and I want you to think about it before you answer."

-

-

-

Clarissa set the table, her dark head bent over the task as her fingers sorted out the silver. She turned and bumped into Stephen who was walking by. She lifted her face to him, eyes wide. "Pardon me, " she said politely.

He grinned for a moment then sobered. "Tut, tut," he teased, adopting a country accent. "You should mind the right of way, young lady... D'ye want a ticket?" Clarissa paused, brow furrowing for a moment then her expression turned arch, as arrogant as she had been at his apartment so long ago yet without the hostility.

"I did not see an uncle crossing sign."

He lifted a brow, trying not to smile, continuing to tease her as she seemed to play along.. "We may have to suspend your license, young lady." He reprimanded her lightly. She lifted the same brow back at him.

"By what authority?" she challenged. "I daresay you may be overstepping your bounds." They were standing face to face but her posture was still relaxed. Stephen couldn't manage a comeback past the lump in his throat. This was his brother's child and the likeness was suddenly too much to bear. He stepped back, heart aching, and forced a smile.

"I shall have to yield then," he said finally. She nodded and moved past him. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain his composure. I would give anything, he thought, to give her the life she should have had.

"Stephen," she said from the sink. "Your bread is starting to burn." She turned her head. "Am I finished? May I go outside again?"

"Evey was talking to Eric." He opened the oven and rescued the bread as he spoke. When he glanced up, Clarissa was looking at him, a sharp expression in her eyes. "They have been friends a long time, Clarissa." She was withdrawing before his eyes and he had no idea why. "What is wrong?"

She was silent, the war raging inside her head obvious to him. He wondered if she had any idea how expressive her face could be when she wasn't completely shut down. She nodded, more to herself than to him. "It is nothing," she said softly and turned back to the sink. "What else needs doing?" She was distant but not altogether gone, and he asked her for the butter from the refrigerator. She delivered it then asked to be excused to her room. Stephen paused as she left, watching her stride away and wondering what she was doing.

-

-

-

Dinner was finally done. Evey and Eric came in from the garden to find the table set and ready. Clarissa was absent from the kitchen, Stephen and Mim were talking quietly but looked up at the new arrivals. "Where's Clarissa?" Evey asked. Stephen frowned.

"She didn't come out to you?"

"No." Evey shook her head. "We were alone."

Stephen got to his feet, his expression faintly panicked, but before he could take a step, Clarissa appeared from around the corner. She'd showered and changed, dressed in jeans and a scoop necked blouse. She hesitated as everyone looked at her, her expression startled for a moment then blank as a shutter closed over her emotions.

"Is it time for dinner?" she asked. "Am I late?"

Mim waved at her. "No, Princess. You know we could never begin a meal without you." He patted the seat beside him. "Come sit down." He beamed at her. "I like that blouse. Very pretty.."

She paused, her head tilting toward him slightly in acknowledgement. "Thank you, Mim, but it will never fit you." She sank into her chair as Mim clutched his chest.

"Holy Christ," he exclaimed. "An insult? A barb?" He stared at her until she flushed faintly. "You made a joke, Clarissa. That has to be a sign of an impending apocalypse."

She waited a few seconds, head tilted attentively to one side. "Well, I don't hear the trump of doom sounding, so I think we're safe to have dinner." She looked at Eric who was seated across from her and found him smiling. For a moment, she smiled back at him then her attention shifted to Evey as Stephen brought to food to the table. "Are you alright?" she asked the woman sharply. Evey looked ill, faintly green, and Stephen noticed when he looked up at Clarissa's question.

"Evey?"

The other woman bolted from the table, Stephen following. Clarissa watched them go then shook her head, sighing. "She won't be back soon," she said. "May as well serve up, Mim."

The effeminate man looked perplexed. "What's wrong?" he asked suspiciously. Clarissa frowned, glancing at her therapist as though he'd grown another head.

"She's pregnant," she said.

"Did Evey tell you that?"

"No."

"Then how would you know?"

Clarissa's eyes closed for a moment and when she opened them, there was a hideous grief in their depths. She focused on Eric, as though looking at him were a lifeline of sorts. He watched her silently as she gathered herself, the grief vanishing as if it never had been.

"It's an estrogen conspiracy," she snapped. "Just serve. Stephen might come back but then again, perhaps not." She offered Eric the bread, then took a slice for herself. "The meal will be no better cold," she pointed out practically. "And talk, please? I can hear her when it's quiet."

Dinner passed as Eric told stories about London.

Mim pressed him for more information as he discussed several cases, and they laughed about some of the odd characters he remembered. Clarissa laughed aloud at one point, causing Mim to glance at her with wonder. The slender man hid the expression as quickly as he could but Eric could see that he was moved that Clarissa was more interactive. Stephen didn't return until nearly everyone had finished eating. Clarissa studied him as he apologized for Evey's indisposition.

"The flu?" she repeated skeptically.

"It must be," he replied. Clarissa shook her head.

"All men are mad." She said it with a sense of wonder. "Mim, I need your keys." She nodded to Eric. "Begging your pardon, Eric." She took Mim's keys and went out of the room. Stephen looked at the two men.

"What did she mean?" he asked them.

Eric hid his grin behind his napkin as Mim explained. Stephen's eyes widened and then lit up. "Do you think…?" he started to say. Mim turned pink and Eric excused himself to follow Clarissa.

She was pacing the shadowed garden, a cigarette in hand. Eric hesitated, watching her, remembering with a pang the last time he'd seen her with a cigarette. She noticed him and froze, the cigarette half-lifted to her lips. He understood the suddenly stricken look in her eyes and shook his head. "Don't waste it," he advised. "I take it you don't indulge often." She drew in a lungful of smoke, exhaling slowly.

"No," she said. "I don't."

"Are you angry, Clarissa?"

"No." The denial rang false between them. She shook her head. "Yes, but…"

"Who are you angry with?"

She looked at him then and he felt the rage in her to his soul. She seemed to weigh the moment then lifted the cigarette and moved away. "It isn't important," she said with great finality. "I would rather think of something else, Eric. Anything else."

"Are you going to run again?" he asked. She looked toward him and shook her head.

"No, I'm not." Eric nodded .

"I have to go back to London.". She turned away from him at that but he pursued her. "I need to settle a few things, Clarissa. Evey has asked me to come and stay for a while. I cannot leave work without putting a few things straight first." He touched her arm lightly. "Will it bother you if I am here?" The silence stretched between them. "I don't want to cause you any discomfort, Clarissa."

She stared at him and in the moonlight, he could see the doubt on her face. "You are coming back?"

"Yes, if you don't mind." He slid his hands into his pockets. "I'd like to be here for a while, spend time with my friends, with you."

_He'd said it, oh god, he'd said it to her face._

She flicked the cigarette away and slid toward him, her eyes holding him in place as her hand reached out to rest over his heart. As had happened in the workroom so long ago, his heart leapt at her touch, a reaction he had no control over, and she bowed her head. They were still for a long moment until he laid his hand over hers. "Clarissa?" he whispered. "Is there a reason for me to come back to Gallowsmere?"

"I have no right..."

He heard the longing in her voice and it cut at him even as he realized that she hadn't really answered him. "Tell me," he urged her softly. "Shall I come back, Clarissa? Do you want me to come back to...?" He almost said 'you' but couldn't. The young woman sighed, edging a little closer before looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Yes," she said softly. "Please, Eric. I want you here, at Gallowsmere." Her eyes were so dark that they were nearly black in the uncertain light "Here, with me, Eric."

Under her fingers, his heart jumped again, bounded against her palm. He cupped her face with one hand, smoothing the curve of her cheek with one rough thumb. "I was afraid," he admitted. "That I would hurt you by coming here."

Clarissa shifted closer still. The scent of her skin, her hair, swirled around them and Eric's heart tightened at the softness in her face. He lowered his mouth to hers slowly, giving her every opportunity to withdraw but glad when she met him halfway. The kiss was chaste but it weakened his knees all the same. Clarissa sighed as he pulled back to look at her. "It's the first time I haven't hurt," she whispered. "In a very long time."

He pulled her against his chest and her head lowered against his shoulder as he embraced her. The night slowly darkened around them but neither one noticed it for a long time, lost in the comfort of one another's touch.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: This was hard to write. I hope that it isn't as hard to read. If it is, I heartily apologize to long-suffering readers. The good stuff is coming, I needed a certain bit of foundation for certain things in the future. Like I said before: this is ensemble work, dealing with a number of characters and their interrelationships so it's going to be a bit different from the previous story.---edited 10/31/07. Still editing. Sorry for the delay, real life doesn't edit well, I've found. ES

Disclaimers: I don't have the rights to write about them but it's all in fun. I share my dreams of a longer story arc than one year in the life of a vigilante and his somewhat unwilling young captive. I like happy endings. This is not gaining my anything except reviews….hopefully.

**Wholly Hopeful**

Stephen walked beside his wife to be, his head in the clouds. "A baby," he said for the hundredth time. Evey looked up at him, pursing her lips in annoyance.

"Oh, shut up," she grumbled. "This ruins everything!"

He stumbled as he turned his face to her in uncomprehending shock. "What?" he asked. "What do you mean, Evey? You didn't want children?"

She shook her head at him. "No, you great big idiot. The wedding! How am I to walk down the aisle in a beautiful dress…for two? I'll be big as a house by the date we chose." Her voice trembled. "Everything is ruined."

"Evey, no," he hurried to reassure her. "You'll be exquisite, my love. A vision." She sniffled and he pulled her close. Under the shelter of his arm, she did feel better, not that she particularly wanted him to know that fact. Stephen bent his head to hers. "Is there something you would like right now?" he asked. "I had thought we might lunch in town and make a day of it. Will you be able to eat?"

"I might." Truth was she was suddenly ravenous. "Something…spicy." Her eyes fell upon the sign of an Indian restaurant and she lit up. "There." Stephen felt a momentary apprehension then conceded to his love's demand.

-

-

-

Clarissa retreated from Mim after their session, her emotions raw, her tolerance for others nil.

The morning had been stressful, full of memories and pain that she hated revisiting. The session had ended on a sour note, when she had shouted at Mim, ignoring the look of shock on his mild face as she ranted at him to leave her alone. They had parted and Clarissa took herself off into parts of Gallowsmere that she rarely journeyed into. As she prowled through the house, she found no place that was restful. Mim had made himself scarce and was hiding in his room. Clarissa could hear him or sense him, despite the walls that separated them, and the constant awareness made her skin crawl.

Gallowsmere was a huge house but, as it was never empty, it often grated on Clarissa's nerves like a steady whine. The only time since she'd been in hospital that she'd not felt her nerves constantly afire was when she'd sat in the garden with Eric. For the time she had spent with him, she felt more like her old self, from before the shooting. She wandered out onto the back porch of the house and squinted across the garden toward the woods.

It was raining more heavily, Clarissa noticed, and her heart sank. She wasn't to go outside in the rain, per Stephen's orders, and the woods were completely off-limits. . He'd been fairly insistent on the matter and Clarissa had conceded to make him shut up. Atherton had never cared if she'd run in the rain, of course, but then, well, Atherton had been evil and Stephen was not. Who will you trust, she asked herself. The answer was immediate.

Stephen, of course.

Standing on the back porch, she looked off to the right and saw the misty shape of the old stables. An idea came to her, an idea about how to ease the pressure in her head. She hurried up to her room, rummaging in her things for what she wanted. She changed clothes in a hurry and trotted lightly downstairs, hesitating on the landing before going down to the basement. She knew where the secret passage started and where it let out again.

The long passage was dark. No lights had ever been installed in the tunnel but Clarissa felt confident as she traveled the old passage. She could still see in the dark, there was never so little light that she was blinded by it. When she reached the other end, she pushed open the wooden door and blinked in the dim confines of the stables. As her eyes adjusted, she recognized the waiting equipment and her heart sped up eagerly.

The balance beam, the pommel horse, the rings hanging from the ceiling... Everything was in place, as though she had turned a corner and stepped back into Burlwood. She'd felt the same when Stephen had brought her to the stables months ago and showed her the area he had designed for her while she healed. Then she had been too weak and ill to think of coming out here for any reason, much less exercise her body beyond the walk from the house. She'd stared at the room for a long moment then fled from the silent reproof of the newly recreated playroom. She hadn't appreciated the gesture or the thought that the room had sprung from then but today she did and she was amazed.

Stephen had recreated her playroom in the vacant building. Clarissa was more than a little amazed that he'd remembered all the equipment she'd had at Burlwood. She moved among the items with a sense of homecoming. Although she'd not used any of it yet, it was hers. Stephen had promised it would always be there whenever she wanted it. Every time Clarissa checked afterward, peeping into the old stables curiously, it was waiting for her.

Today, it was done waiting.

She shed her shoes and her baggy sweat clothes, revealing the snug leotard she'd put on_just in case_ she was tempted… She shook her head at that thought. That wasn't the case at all. She felt the need to begin again. She moved to the balance beam and mounted it. "Slowly," she said aloud, breaking the silence. "I have time."

-

-

-

In the late afternoon, Stephen lay curled against his Evey in the silence of a small hotel. A whole afternoon of the two of them celebrating their wonderful new secret made them drowsy and sated, basking in the glow of their love for each other. Evey sighed.

"Stephen, do you think Clarissa will be safe around the baby?"

He was tracing circles on her still flat tummy and his finger stopped. "Why wouldn't she be?"

"She has such a hard time with changes." Evey shook her head. "I'm worried there's too much too soon."

"She knew you were pregnant, Evey, and she said nothing about it bothering her." Stephen nuzzled Evey's throat. "She knows she can speak to us without reprisals."

"She doesn't, though. She keeps everything locked up inside her." Evey gasped as Stephen found a particularly sensitive spot. She arched against him, eagerly. "Oh, there," she said with a groan. Stephen chuckled against her skin.

"Evey," he whispered. "My beloved, my darling, my heart." He ground his hips against hers suggestively. She pressed back against him and he laughed low in his throat. "No nap for you today."

-

-

-

Clarissa felt a rush of excitement as she moved from one old friend to another.

Her blood no longer swam sluggishly in her veins. Now it sang. In her mind, the music swelled and lifted her as she practiced her old routines. They were a balm to her aching spirit and she lost herself in the raw physical exertion, letting her strength carry her away. She was tired of living so tamely among people who did not, could not comprehend the constant awareness of others, the guarded way she had to move and act so as not to be noticed. Here in her playroom, (and this was _her_ playroom according to Stephen) she could let herself be free.

She tested herself, trying to see how much she'd lost to the injuries. Enough to annoy her, but not enough to ruin her play. Having exhausted the other options in the room, she vaulted up to the uneven bars and hung, waiting to see if her arms had lost their strength before she swung herself up, laughing when it made her a little giddy. With the memory of long practise, she began the routines that she loved the most. It was as close to flying as she could imagine, the weightless fall to the next bar and the fluid sweep as she spun around it. Stephen might love fencing and running but this was Clarissa's forte.

Atherton had begun her physical training young, when she was barely old enough to understand what he wanted. She'd spent a total of years in gymnasiums, moving from one to another until her grandfather had spent the small fortune on the refit of the Burlwood quarters. She was useful by then, already an excellent interrogator, and he didn't like her practicing where people could see what she was capable of. He'd grumbled and cursed Clarissa's father but the abilities that Stanton had bred her for were too valuable to be risked to public exposure.

In the end, Atherton kept her close; near enough that she would be able to stand between him and V, if the latter ever showed to extract his revenge, and far enough that she had a living fear of the old man.

When Clarissa had cooled down, she donned her sweats and shoes before ducking back into the secret passage. Her feet were light as she hurried up the passage back to the house. She stepped back into the cellar and closed the door tightly behind her.

She could hear Mim moving around upstairs and she went silently up to her room, avoiding the one step on the stairs that would betray her, not wanting to alert him to her return As she entered her room, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and frowned at her reflection. She had talc all over herself but her face didn't have the drawn look it often did. She shook her head ruefully and went to shower.

-

-

-

Stephen pulled his car into his parking space and hurried around to let his lady from her seat. Evey laughed at him. "I will not break," she said when he treated her so carefully. He offered her a wicked grin.

"I rather think we proved that earlier," he said lightly. She blushed which prompted him to laugh. The rain had stopped and in the late afternoon light, the flowers glittered with diamonds. In the middle of the garden, Stephen kissed Evey adoringly, lost to the world in each other.

From the seat on the back porch, Mim cleared his throat. "I'd say 'Get a room', but yours is upstairs." He laughed when they broke apart. "What's the verdict?"

Clarissa appeared from the house behind him. "I'm a cousin," she said smugly. Mim jumped and turned to her.

"Where have you been?" he asked sharply. "I couldn't find you earlier."

"You didn't need to find me earlier," she countered. Looking at Stephen, she lifted her brow. "I'm a cousin, right?"

"Yes, you are," he replied. Something about Clarissa was different. She wasn't… She gave him the barest smile, a faint curve of the lips that actually seemed to reach her eyes. "What have you done with your day?"

She waved a careless hand. "Not much. It's been raining."

Mim's eyes narrowed. "Clarissa…" he said slowly. She turned her face toward him and he fell silent at the expression on her face. She nodded.

"All's well with the world, then." She checked her watch. "I started dinner a bit ago. Hope you have a little appetite." She slipped back into the house.

Mim seemed unsettled. He frowned from his chair on the porch, staring after the girl in some confusion. Evey paused beside him on her way into the house. "Is everything alright?" she asked him. He shook his head.

"I'm not sure," he answered her honestly. "We got some things done this morning but after the session ended, she disappeared. I looked everywhere for her but I couldn't find her anywhere." He gestured toward the house. "Now she pops out of nowhere, acting like…"

Stephen moved closer. "She doesn't seem as unsure of herself."

Mim nodded. "It's not an aspect I've ever seen before. Is this how she was before the accident?"

"It wasn't an accident, Mim. I've told you that." Stephen frowned. "Perhaps I should speak to her." He laid a hand on Evey's arm. "Will you stay here for a few minutes?" She nodded and he followed Clarissa inside.

She was in the kitchen, setting the table. Stephen watched her for a moment, leaning against the doorjamb. "Do you need any help?" She glanced up and shook her head, still smiling that Mona Lisa smile.

"No, you're exempted." She finished with the silver and looked everything over. "It's all done, in any case." He was still looking at her, a curious expression in his eyes. "What?"

"You seem different, Clarissa. I can feel…" He hesitated. "I don't know how to describe it."

She dipped her chin down, hesitating. "Can I trust you to keep my secrets, Uncle Stephen?" she asked softly. He moved closer, bending his head toward her.

"Of course, you can." He was startled when she reached out and laid a hand on his arm, her fingers touching him lightly.

"I used the secret passage," she whispered. "And I went to the playroom today."

"The playroom?" Steven repeated. Clarissa's eyes lifted to his face and her fingers tugged at his sleeve.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" she said so quietly that the words were a mere breath of sound. "I don't want Mim to know that I have someplace to go to when... You won't tell him, will you?"

"The playroom?" Stephen frowned as he considered her words. "You…played?" He remembered what she had been like at Burlwood. Agile and strong. Vibrant. "That was dangerous, Clarissa."

She drew back sharply, taking the words as a rebuff. "You told me it was mine to use," she protested. She seemed to draw into herself and he caught her arms gently.

"It is," he reassured her. "It is. But you've been the better part of a year away. What if you'd hurt yourself and no one knew where you were?" He pulled her closer. "I'm not angry with you and I won't tell, but... Please, Clarissa, promise me you won't play without someone knowing where you are."

She looked up, the dark eyes searching his face. "I'm fine." Her voice was a little fearful and he forced himself to relax his hold on her, letting her draw back.

"So I see, Clarissa." The astonishing change in her was his fault, he knew it, but she'd taken a great risk in going to the stables for her exercise. Fear danced under his skin, toying with his nerves as he imagined what might have happened if she'd been hurt while he'd been gone and no one had known where she was. "But you might not have been if you'd overdone it or made an error in judgment..."

"I was careful." The girl wavered slightly, as though torn between two conflicting desires. "I needed... I couldn't stay inside and you said I was not to run in the rain." She shivered suddenly. "I just wanted to be...alone."

He could hear the naked confession in her voice, the soft trembling of the words, and his heart went out to her. He reached out and took hold of her shoulders gently. "I don't want anything to happen to you," he whispered, trying not to frighten her. "I won't tell Mim."

Clarissa stared at him for a long moment. "I never thanked you for the toys," she whispered. "I like them, Uncle Stephen." She twisted forward, flinging an arm around his neck and hugging him. "Thank you."

Just as suddenly, she whirled away from him, disappearing out of the kitchen and leaving him alone. Stephen was breathless at her swift departure, she moved with a speed he knew all too well. In the silence that fell over the kitchen, he contemplated the day's events. Despite the dangers that might have come from her impetuous behavior of seeking out her playroom, there was no harm done. Clarissa was fully healed physically and he considered that she might need to escape the constant presence of her therapist, given the relationship that they had. Mim antagonised his patient often, forcing her to interact when she might prefer isolation. If she escaped to the playroom, would it undermine Mim's treatments?

Stephen shook his head at the thought. Did it really hurt anything to allow her the solace of her playroom? Did it ease her discomfort to lose herself in the pursuit of physical exertion after Mim had dug around inside her thoughts? Did it expend the restless energy that built up when caged by others who had specific expectations of her? He decided that it didn't matter. She seemed to be feeling better whatever the cause. He returned to Mim and Evey.

"She seems fine to me," he said to the therapist. "Was your day productive?"

Mim pursed his lips thoughtfully. "She was forthcoming during our session, Stephen. I am still waiting for some sort of fallout from it."

"It was bad?" Evey asked anxiously. Mim didn't answer. "Oh."

-

-

-

Clarissa didn't come to dinner.

Her empty seat bothered Mim most of all. The slender man seemed weighted down by her absence, his pale blue eyes going to the empty place and he fell silent several times in the middle of a sentence. Stephen studied him with concern.

"Mim," he said gently. "Is it something we need to know about?"

The man lifted helpless eyes to his host. "Probably," he said at last. "But she hasn't given me permission to share it, Stephen. I would tell you if I could." He shrugged apologetically. "I worry about her. I hope that your friend comes back soon."

"By week's end." Evey assured him. "He had some loose ends to tidy up, then he'll be back." She smiled. "He's as eager to get here as Clarissa is to have him back."

"Good." Mim set down his fork. "It can't be soon enough, I think." He smiled at Evey. "Please accept my congratulations on the baby, Evey. It is truly wonderful news." He pushed away from the table. "Please excuse me." He didn't go upstairs, instead he went outside into the evening.

Stephen and Evey looked at one another. "Perhaps I can ask Clarissa…" Stephen said slowly. Evey shook her head.

"We agreed that she could come to us, either of us, with a problem." She caught Stephen's hand in hers. "Let it be, Stephen. Let her remember that she is safe with us, no matter what hides in her past."

-

-

-

Clarissa lay on her bed, her eyes closed in the subdued light.

She was painfully aware of the people in the house but trying hard to block the feel of them. For all the energy she'd expended during her time in the stables, it hadn't taken long for the presence of others to grate against her senses. She couldn't remember being so achingly aware of people at Atherton's. Sometimes she missed the poison in her blood, the numbing effect it had apparently had on her newly awakened senses. Stephen and Eric had snuck up on her in her playroom, for God's sake. Now, let Evey sniffle in the hallway, and it sent Clarissa's nerves into high alert.

Speaking of which…

"Come in." she called. The door creaked open and Stephen paused in the doorway. He did not advance, merely waited in the opening. Clarissa could smell his cologne, a pleasant woodsy scent that was strangely comforting. She didn't open her eyes.

"Yes, Uncle Stephen?" She caught the quick intake of breath at the title. Funny to think that made him happy.

"Clarissa, I thought about what you told me earlier." He paused, the silence so full of intent that she waited for him to continue. "Would you mind if I watched you play? If I saw how you did, if I were fairly certain you would come to no harm, I would feel better about you going to the playroom alone."

She turned her head toward him, opening her eyes to look at him curiously. "I don't mind," she said after a pause. "And I would prefer it to the camera you'll put in the room if I don't agree."

He had the grace to look a little chagrined. "It would be a safety precaution."

She laughed at the tone of his voice, it was so…prim, then sobered. "I wouldn't mind an intercom in the playroom though. It's a little isolated and I might not know someone needed me." She settled back down, closing her eyes.

"Did it help?" he asked very softly. She turned her head toward him again.

"You're not looking to take Mim's place, are you?"

The corners of his eyes crinkled at her tone. "Not as such, no." He looked her over. "When are you going back out there?"

"Tomorrow, most likely. Will you be free?" He nodded. "Very well." His eyes darkened and she wondered why. That look either meant she was in trouble or something was wrong. She considered the conversation, could find no fault in it. "What is it?" she asked, perplexed.

"For a moment," he said, his voice catching. "You sounded like my mother."

"Should I not?" She sat up, her expression confused. He shook his head.

"No, Clarissa. I just hadn't noticed the similarity before." He cleared his throat. "I wish you'd known her, sweetheart. She was… She would have loved you."

Silence fell between them. After a few moments, when he realized that she had nothing more to say, Stephen excused himself and left, closing the door behind him. Clarissa waited until he'd gone back down the hallway, her body rigid in the semi dark room. When she was sure she was alone, she curled herself into a ball and burst into tears. He was wrong, so wrong, she thought miserably. It was a long time before she slept.

-

-

-

Stephen went back downstairs, his footsteps heavy. Clarissa had been so natural with him, so easy and like a normal girl that he'd forgotten himself. Something he'd said had gone wrong. Something changed the moment he made the comment about his mother but he didn't know what. Clarissa's face suddenly went blank, all emotion draining away, and her eyes were distant and cold. It was as if someone turned the temperature down in the room. Stephen hesitated, wondering what he'd said wrong.

Clarissa had gone again, walled up behind her reserve, vanished as neatly as though she had stepped from the room although she still sat upon her bed. She'd waited politely for him to speak again but he could tell she preferred that he leave. He was befuddled by her sudden change and helpless to correct it. Every step he took reasonated with his confusion and disappointment but he couldn't see any way to change it. Heavy-hearted, he sought out Evey and the comfort of her love, the joy of his baby growing inside her, to ease his aching spirit.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Notes: What to say? Apparently that last chapter was a toughie. Thanks, JMax, for the encouragement. Truly I appreciate every review you post, there's always a boost in them for me. Hopefully this chapter will stimulate a little more interaction with my other readers. I know you all are out there, I can hear you breathing. Developments are coming, I promise. ----edited 11/01/07. Edited for continuity and seamlessness. Hopefully I was successful. ES

Disclaimer: I sit at my table, typing, and the only V I own is the DVD beside my computer. I have no right to use these characters, no right to warp their world to my own vision and desire. But it's all in fun and nobody gets hurt. Not even Dominic. I promise. I'm not making anything for writing this story and I don't own anything but my laptop, Esme. Please don't sue me.

**Beginnings**

Morning came, bringing Clarissa to the breakfast table in a pleasant state of mind. Stephen cooked a batch of crepes, flipping them expertly while trading words with Mim. The therapist sat at the table, sipping tea from a delicate cup as he commented on topics culled from the news. Clarissa sat down with a cup of her own, adding a healthy dose of sugar to the brew before picking up the paper to skim the headlines. Mim looked her way.

"Good morning, Princess," he teased her. She flicked a glance at him full of annoyance.

"Don't call me that," she said automatically. Stephen settled a plate of crepes before her, offering her a warm smile.

"Do you want strawberries?" he asked politely. "Or something else?" Clarissa shook her head.

"This is fine," she replied. "Thank you, Uncle Stephen." She hesitated, looking up at him. "Are we still on for later?"

He nodded. "Certainly, if you haven't changed your mind."

"No, I haven't." Clarissa focused on her plate, feeling Mim's attention on her but ignoring it. "After session, I expect."

"That will be fine." Stephen went back to the stove and Clarissa ate her breakfast under Mim's watchful eye, ignoring the man's curiosity and reading the news.

-

-

-

During session with Mim after breakfast, Clarissa sat in the arbor, her body taut as she struggled with her memories. She gritted her teeth as pain rolled through her and her discomfort increased. "I can't." she whispered. Mim said nothing. "I... can't." She looked up at him, seeing the concern in his eyes and hating him for it.

"You've said there were other children, Clarissa." The therapist's hands were clenched in his lap but his voice was calm. "Won't you tell me about them?"

"I...can't tell you anything." She turned her face from him, willing her walls to rise higher to shut out the pain, to close him off from her. "What does it matter, Mim? I am the only one left."

"But they existed, Clarissa. Stop denying them, tell me about your siblings." Mim's voice edged toward frustration. "You are living by Atherton's rules but he can't dictate to you any longer. If you keep denying their existance, you'll continue to suffer under Atherton's control."

"Atherton is dead, like all the rest." Clarissa snapped. "And not a grave or headstone between them. There is no record of their deaths, Mim, nor a record of their lives! You tell me not to worry about the dead, but you do anyway, don't you?" She pulled away from him, getting to her feet. "I'm done."

"How many were there?" the slender man demanded. "How many children did Evelyn father?" She stared at him for a long moment, caught by the anger in him, something she'd never seen before.

"Six came out of Larkhill," she whispered, shaking all over as she said it. "And by the time I was seventeen, only I remained." She trembled viciously, pain ripping across her pale face. She spun on on foot and fled from him, racing into the house without another word. Mim watched her go as the anger bled out of him.

"Six," he whispered. "Oh, my God, six." He passed a shaking hand over his face. "What happened to the other five?"

-

-

-

Clarissa and Stephen vanished from the house sometime after the session but before lunch.

Mim and Evey amused themselves with various household tasks and spent time watching a movie together when there was nothing else to do. Neither spoke of the missing Averys but both wondered what was going on.

In the passage, Stephen had been surprised that Clarissa needed as little light as he did. She trotted up the tunnel with easy grace, confidently leading the way. Stephen let her go, pleased that she was no longer the silent and withdrawn figure he'd left the night before. She opened the door to the playroom and let Stephen enter before closing the door behind her.

The gym equipment was waiting. Stephen laid a hand on the uneven bar support. "You had these things at Burlwood," he said quietly. "I duplicated what I remembered."

Clarissa nodded. "Atherton found it expedient to have me close to home." She shrugged out of her shirt and her pants, dressed in a leotard underneath. She pulled her hair back into a careless knot and vaulted onto the balance beam.

Stephen watched her stand for a moment, as poised as a cat on a fence, before easing into a flip. She landed firmly and sank into a split. "I have missed this," she remarked lightly.

She eased into a handstand, drawing her legs up and arching her back. As she cart-wheeled from one end of the beam to the other, she became even more graceful, losing herself in her exercises. She raced through the regimen, speed and power in her movements, coupled with an accuracy that was frightening. Her speed decreased until she slowed the movements to a crawl, demonstrating the mastery of her techniques.

As he watched her, Stephen realized that she had forgotten his existence, entirely absorbed in the practice of her skills. She performed a hands-free flip and he caught his breath. She was definitely in command of herself in this particular arena. It explained her self-assurance of the night before. He settled down by a pillar and watched her silently as she worked her way through the room.

The uneven bars were the last thing she did.

She approached them the way he approached fencing, like a treat she saved for last. When she mounted them, she flew. There was a speed to her movements that seemed to ease her tensions. Stephen watched in awe as she worked the bars with her body, a silent ballet between the bars and herself that rang with the music that there should have been. He made a mental note to purchase a stereo system and some music for her. There should be music, he thought, and wondered why Atherton had given her these skills.

It came to him a moment later.

Clarissa had required this outlet, something to spend her energy just the same as he did his. He'd fenced alone for years in the Shadow Gallery, needing the violent discharge of the nervous energy that interrupted his sleep and made him reckless. He'd had no opponent, no one to share his needs, and truthfully no choice but to batter the suit of armor that was his only recourse. Atherton had needed Clarissa to be physically strong and steady; therefore the gym was a necessary evil. He'd given her the prowess he wanted her to have and then a safe place to keep it sharp if ever he needed it. Stephen cursed his father for the thousandth time for the bastard's manipulative nature.

Clarissa dismounted with an aerial somersault and landed solidly. When Stephen applauded her, she flinched in surprise, having forgotten he was watching. She colored with embarrassment, ducking her head.

"That was beautiful, Clarissa," he said honestly. "You certainly know what you are doing." He beckoned to her and she sat near him on the mats, stretching out. "How long have you practiced this?"

"I was very young when I started. I don't really remember." She frowned as she thought about it. "I remember Dr. Stanton argued with Gra…Atherton over it. She said we needed more kinesthetic stimuli or the musculature would not conform to the optimal specifications he wanted." She shifted her weight. "She was always mucking about our lives." She didn't sound pleased.

"Dr. Stanton…" Stephen said slowly. "From Larkhill?"

"Yes," Clarissa pulled a face. "She forever took our blood, tested, and measured us."

"Us?"

"Evelyn's chi...offspring." Clarissa hesitated, her expression changing subtly. "I miss them sometimes, Uncle Stephen. In the dark, I feel them as though…"

"They are near but not near enough?" Her nod made him sigh. "I feel about Evelyn that way, sweetheart." She twitched when he spoke, a small gesture but noticeable. "Does it bother you that I mentioned him?"

She shook her head silently.

Stephen studied her cautiously. She was retreating again. Something he'd just said had caused her to close him out again. He realized that the stiffened line of her body was defensive and it suddenly struck Stephen what he'd said. "Clarissa," he called softly, reaching a hand toward her. "Come here." She didn't move, staring at his hand as though it were a strange new appendage he'd grown. "Clarissa, we're family now, aren't we?" She nodded, still not moving. He eased toward her a little. "Tell me what you are thinking, won't you?"

The silence lengthened. She didn't move toward him but she didn't retreat either. Stephen reached out and caught her hand in his, feeling the tremors that ran up her arm. "You leave us," he said quietly. "In silence, you hide the things we need to know. Clarissa, I am not my father. Atherton is dead. He's not going to come back and hurt you anymore. The things he said to you, did to you, they will not happen again." He pulled lightly on her hand, trying to see her eyes. "I fear he told you so many lies that you don't know what to believe anymore. I hope you'll believe me, Clarissa. I know you trusted me to come and keep you from hurting my friends. Eric told me about that time and I know you tried to protect me at great risk to yourself. You are my brother's child, no matter how you were conceived, and if there were no other reason than that, I would still hold you in my heart. I love you, Clarissa. I call you sweetheart because I love you."

She was shivering violently now, the shaking worse with every word.

"Clarissa, sweetheart, I love you. I will always love you. I don't care about your past except that it is hurting you still. I care about your future and hope that you will one day be happy." He pulled her closer. She resisted a little, not really trying to escape his grasp. He felt her tears fell on the back of his hand. "I never realized until now that I haven't said it to you in these words. I love you, Clarissa." He drew her close until she sat beside him under the curve of his arm. "I thought you knew that I brought you to Gallowsmere with me because I love you. Haven't I ever said it?"

She shook her head silently and Stephen cursed himself for his inattention. He'd been so glad to get her from the hospital and to get home with Evey that he'd never thought about Clarissa's view of things. How did she see herself in their family? Did she understand family at all? He cuddled her as much as she would allow, trying to warm her with his body. "Talk to me, sweetheart, please?"

She hunched against him. "The world is breaking again," she whispered hoarsely. The confession broke the dam of her tears and she curled against him, sobbing, her whole body shaking with her grief. He had no idea how long they sat there before sheer exhaustion took her and she fell asleep. He picked her up, astonished at how light she was, and carried her back to the house.

Mim saw them emerge from the cellar and his eyes went wide. Stephen shook his head and carried his niece upstairs to her room. When he came back down, he met Mim and Evey in the kitchen and he explained what had happened in between Clarissa and himself although he left out the playroom and her exhibition. Mim stirred a cup of tea as he listened, nodding several times.

"The Princess doesn't think she can be loved," he said at Stephen's questioning look. "It's no secret that Atherton manipulated her through punishment and reward. You've provided a structured life for her here but she's still drifting. Telling her that she is loved touches the darkest places in her and opens them to light. Now it's a matter of keeping the dark from quenching the light."

"That doesn't sound easy." Evey said, picking up her cup. "How does one do that?"

"Remind her that you love her, say the words until you're sick of them. Realize that if she challenges you, it's to see if you really mean it." Mim sipped his own tea. "The brunt of it will fall on Stephen, I expect. He's the authority in the house. Evey and I will probably get some of it, though not as much." Mim considered it carefully. "Keep asking about the others, Stephen. She'll answer you more likely than me. They are important to her, she treasures them in her heart like she does the Inspector. No matter how deeply I take her under hypnosis, she will not answer my questions about the others."

-

-

-

The days passed more quickly after that.

The weekend came as a surprise and the alarm that notified of a new arrival brought Evey out onto the back porch. Eric's car pulled into sight, parking on the far side of the drive. Evey went out to meet him, smiling. Eric took her hands and kissed her cheek. "Congratulations, Evey."

"Thank you, Eric." Evey beamed up at him. "Stephen's over the moon."

"Is he about?"

"Up in a tree with Clarissa somewhere in the woods." Evey shrugged. "They'll be back shortly, I expect." Eric's expression fell a little and Evey said nothing, pleased to think that Eric missed Clarissa. She smiled to herself. "Why not bring your things into the house? We've get you settled in and you can help with lunch. They'll be hungry when they get back."

-

-

-

Clarissa lay in wait on a branch, lying very still as Stephen tried tracking her. He'd found her false trail and followed it about ten feet farther than he should have. He was backtracking, on high alert she guessed from his stance. She eased the handful of acorns from her pocket and tossed them past him. His head swiveled at the pattering of the small objects, looking for the source. As he stepped out from under her branch, she dropped lightly behind him, staying low in anticipation of his turn. Turn he did and she swept his legs out from under him, pouncing on him when he was prone. Looking down at him, she smirked.

"I win."

He sighed, relaxing. "You win," he agreed. She squinted at him but he stayed still.

"No tricks?" she asked. "The great vigilante yields?"

He grinned and she felt it coming, the sudden twist of his body and his hands catching her wrists. She felt a flash of panic at being caught, but he didn't keep her, just dumped her into the dirt and got to his feet. She tossed a handful of leaves at him. "You don't play fair." Her words were light enough that he didn't take offense at them.

"Vigilantes aren't supposed to follow the rules." He grinned at her, leaves and twigs in his hair. She looked at him, a faint smile on her lips, taking in his muddy clothes and tousled hair..

"Evey is going to kill me," she said. "You're a mess."

"Pity there's no mirror, sweetheart, because your face is dirty and your hair is mussed."

"Camouflage," she retorted. "I was hiding, remember?" She got to her feet, dusting off her rear. "I was following acceptable protocol in diversionary and tactical logistics."

His lifted brow and obvious skepticism made her giggle, one hand rising to stifle the laughter. He caught her arm. "Don't, sweetheart. If it's funny to you, laugh at it." He grinned at her. "I think it's bunkum but if you think Evey'll buy it, I'll swear that it's in the handbook for you."

She tried not to laugh. So many times in the past she'd been smacked for the impertinence of laughing at something someone else said wasn't funny that she didn't laugh often. She didn't often make jokes or smart remarks because she wasn't always sure who might be offended. Mim didn't count; he egged her on by being more outrageous than she could imagine someone being. Having Stephen tell her he would try and make Evey buy that line of idiocy was just damn funny; imagining her believing it was funnier still. She giggled again and Stephen laughed too. His hilarity pushed her further and her laughter pushed him until they ended up sitting on the ground howling. Clarissa laughed until her sides ached and she wrapped her arms around her middle in defense. "Stop, Uncle Stephen, please stop!"

He obliged, watching her. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"You made my sides hurt," she protested. He reached out and took her hand in his.

"You never have to watch what you say or do with me," he said seriously. "You have a right to feel."

"Feel what?" She let him hold her hand, his grip was light.

"Anything, sweetheart." He leaned closer, stressing the words. "Feeling is natural. Atherton tried to make you into a puppet, forcing you to feel on his terms, not on yours. I want you to feel happy but I know that you feel a great many other things now. Anger and fear and sadness are all a part of the package, but you get happiness and pride and strength too. That's all part of you, part of what you deserve in life. Not what others want, but what you have a right to." He got to his feet, pulling her up after him. "We are going to be late for lunch, my lady fair, and do you remember what today is?"

The change in his mood left her dizzy. "Late for lunch and filthy means Evey will be really ticked," she said slowly. "Today is Friday?"

"No, Clarissa, it's Saturday." He waited and her eyes widened.

"Oh," she exclaimed. "Eric is coming today!" She glanced in the direction of the house then back at Stephen. "Do I look terrible?"

He smiled at her anxious tone. "Do you think he'll care how you look as long as you are here?" He offered her his hand. "Come, fair lady, and let us away to the house for a shower and a change of clothes."

They wended their way out of the woods and along the grass field that lay between them and the house. Clarissa let Stephen hold her hand, knowing that the gesture meant something to him. In all honesty, she had to admit it was nice sometimes to touch another person but it didn't always feel quite right. Today it felt…friendly. Perhaps she should ask Mim if that was good.

-

-

-

Eric went out into the garden and sought out the arbor to sit down. Evey had told him of the latest developments with Clarissa and he wanted to think about them. He mulled them over as though it were clues in a case, turning the facts in his mind until they began to make sense.

He would have given anything to turn back the clock and kill Atherton Avery. The man's suicide had been far too easy; he should have died screaming for mercy from an executioner who had none. He was lost in thought when Mim appeared. The small man called his name, breaking into his ruminations.

"Inspector Finch, are you back to stay?" he asked. Eric nodded at him.

"For a little while."

"Good, good, excellent even," Mim said. He hesitated. "May I speak to you for a moment?"

"If you'd like."

Mim sat down on another chair, his pale blue eyes fixed on Eric intently. "Do you know anything about post traumatic stress syndrome, Inspector?"

"Yes," Eric answered. He had been forced to see the psychologist that served the police for a time after the events in Avery's apartment. The burns and seeing Clarissa gunned down had haunted his sleep for months. He would wake, a shout on his lips as his dreaming mind replayed the events again and again. "I know how it affected me."

Mim leaned back. "Ah," he said. "I am sorry, Inspector."

"It is in the past," Eric replied. "Just memories, right?"

Mim shook his head. "The past is the foundation of the future, Inspector. The experiences we have are interrelated in the confines of our minds. We are what our pasts have made us and we carry that into the events that unfold before us. Who you are now is a combination of who you were before the burns on your arms and who you became after them. You may not recognize the distinction consciously but your subconscious does. As it strives to sync who you were with what you endured, it produces coping mechanisms. It does the best it can with what it has and sadly that's not always good enough. Sometimes exterior help is needed, therapy of some sort, and the rift is mended. Other times it continues to broaden. Ground gained can be lost and ground lost can be regained. It is a complex process however it happens." Mim sounded sad. "It would be a wonderful world if people in my line of work were no longer needed, but that isn't reality."

"I might say the same about my work," Eric agreed. He considered Mim thoughtfully. "I am a good policeman, Mim. I hope you are as good a therapist."

"From your lips to God's ears, Inspector." Mim got to his feet. "I am glad that you are here. I don't think I am violating confidentiality by telling you that the Princess has been looking forward to your arrival." He looked out across the field and smiled. "Here they come now."

Eric got to his feet and saw Clarissa walking hand in hand with Stephen. She looked like a child who'd been grubbing in the dirt, her hair mussed and her face smeared with grime. Eric felt his heart swell at the sight of her; she looked so at ease and confident. She noticed him, her head lifted and she picked up the pace. Stephen let go of her hand and she flew down the rest of the field and into the garden. Up close, she was covered in leaves and sand but her eyes shone up at him with pleasure.

"Hello, Clarissa," he said gravely.

She offered him a smile, one that was brilliant with happiness. "Hello, Eric." Her voice was warm and sweet. "We forgot the time."

"I see that." He nodded to Stephen who had just entered the gate. "Hello, Stephen. Nice to see you." The man was as dirty and rumpled as his niece. "Have you been fighting a war?"

Stephen held up his finger and thumb about an inch apart. "A very small one," he replied. "We need to get cleaned up, Eric. Has Evey had lunch yet, do you know?"

"No, not yet. She didn't seem to think that you'd be home for a bit," Eric said as he turned his eyes to Clarissa. She was teasing a leaf from her hair and stopped at his look. "Out of curiosity, who won?"

"I did," Clarissa said. "But he cheats." She shrugged her shoulders in obvious discomfort. "I've got leaves in my shirt, Eric. I'll go and get cleaned up, shall I, and come back here?"

"That's fine with me, but you may wish to ask Evey." Eric pointed toward the house with his chin. "She's just come out."

Clarissa looked stricken as Evey let out a yelp. "What in the hell have you two been into?"

-

-

-

They didn't get back to the arbor until after lunch. Clarissa sat near Eric on the bench seat, looking very pleased to be so close. Eric turned his head toward and just looked at her silently. She fidgeted under his stare. "What is it?" she asked nervously.

"You look very pretty." He was surprised when she blushed. "Oh, Clarissa, I am certain someone has told you that before."

"No one I cared about," she admitted softly. "Not in a very long time." She offered him her hand hesitantly. Eric wove his fingers in hers at once and she sighed. "I'm so glad you came back."

"I thought about you every day," he confessed. "It was difficult to do my job, knowing that I was coming back for a while. Knowing that you were here waiting." He watched the blush deepen on her cheeks. "I hope that no one has said that to you before."

"Never," she answered softly. "And I have never waited for anyone before, Eric. I promise you that." She looked into his eyes and felt the pit of her stomach flutter. He was strong, she thought, and brave as well as kind. She studied the lines of his face, liking his expression. She clasped his hands between hers. "Thank you for coming back."

Eric smiled at her. "Come sit with me, Clarissa," he said, patting the space between them. She scooted closer until their bodies were touching and Eric put his arm around her. She leaned against him silently and they just sat together, enjoying the garden.

Standing in the kitchen, Mim watched them through the window and smiled to himself. "It's a beginning," he whispered. "A good beginning."


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Notes: Thank you for the lovely reviews, people. I hope this morsel appeals. I liked it but then I am prejudiced, I suspect. Yes, this chap has a touch of Finchy love. He soooo deserves it, in my opinion.---edited 11/01/07. Edit progresses. This chapter is edited for clarity, to remove certain contradictions, and for seamlessness. Any questions? ES

Disclaimer: I don't own them, I have taken liberties with their persons and am therefore a naughty person. Please do not sue me for this little literary jaunt. I won't permanently damage any of them.

**Day and Night**

Sometime after breakfast the next morning, Clarissa came silently down the stairs, dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, pinning her hair up as she walked. Her footsteps were light upon the carpeting, her trainers well-cushioned and comfortable.

She felt edgy, having slept poorly the night before, and she needed release. Some sort of something to take the tension from her. She had, as a result, overslept this morning and gotten a late start. If Stephen had already gone for a run, she would be forced to run alone unless she went into the playroom.

She grimaced, thinking she really didn't feel like being inside either.

She found tea on the stove, still warm, and poured a cup, adding a little sugar before sipping it. She leaned against the sink, staring out at the garden distractedly, lost in thought as she held the warm cup in her hand.

Her other hand ghosted over the counter before finding the large carving knife and seizing the handle automatically. Clarissa didn't realize that she'd picked it up and was spinning it in her fingers, much the same way Stephen handled the blades he carried as V. Completely absorbed, she didn't notice when Mim paused in the doorway of the kitchen and stood staring at this display of dexterity, his mouth open.

She finished her tea and set down the cup, transferring the knife to her now free hand, and poured another cup of tea. The whole time the blade kept its tempo, spinning up and down, her fingers certain despite her inattention. She doctored her tea and picked up the cup again, twirling the blade in her fingertips ceaselessly. Behind Mim, Stephen and Eric appeared, also silenced by the sight of her exercise.

Clarissa sipped her tea then looked down and noticed what her hand was doing. She shook her head and laid down the blade, laughing soundlessly at her own foolishness. A discreet cough from the doorway notified her that she was not alone. She turned in surprise to find the three men staring at her. Mim looked shocked, Stephen seemed almost proud, while Eric eyed her with open admiration. She flushed with embarrassment.

"Old habit," she said breathlessly. "Sorry."

Stephen stepped past Mim, grinning. "Nicely done," he applauded. "And that one isn't well balanced either."

"Most household knives aren't," she agreed. "You have to work around the weight." She glanced at Eric, wondering what he was thinking. He smiled at her, his eyes warm. She finished her tea, setting the cup in the sink. "Are we running today?" Her uncle wasn't dressed for a run but that didn't mean they couldn't go out later. Stephen shook his head.

"Not today," he said cheerfully. "I planned a trip into town. How would you like to go with?"

"Town?" Clarissa frowned. "What for?"

"I have a few things to get and I thought you might like to ride along with Eric and me." Her uncle's expression was innocent, too innocent, and Clarissa hesitated. He seemed exuberant but holding it well contained. She fancied he was about to erupt in alliterative anthems and amazing allusions to any amount of astonishing… _Damnit_, she thought,_he's got me doing it now_! She blinked to clear her head.

"Town," she said again, as though she hadn't understood. Did she want to go to town?

"There's plenty of room in the car," Stephen said temptingly. "We won't be but an hour or two."

"I've never been to town." She waffled uncertainly. "What are we going to do while you're shopping?"

"Walk around, I suppose. There are things to see in the town. I rather expect that you might like a change of pace, of location, of scenery even." Stephen grinned. "There's even a sweet shop in the square that has real chocolate, Clarissa."

This last was out and out bribery. Clarissa had a terrible fondness for chocolate, a treat she'd rarely had until nearly grown. A handful of times, Stephen had brought her back a small bar of chocolate and she'd savored it for days after, doling it out in slivers to herself. The idea of a shop that had more than a bar of the stuff was almost beyond imagining.

"You are cheating, Uncle," she said, reproof in her voice. "Is Evey coming too?"

His face fell slightly. "No, she's not feeling up to snuff today. She opted to stay at home and rest." She felt badly for asking, seeing a little of his glee fade at the thought. She moved toward him to lay a hand on his arm.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking up at him. "She'll be her old self soon, you know. This part doesn't last long."

He looked down at her, frowning as he thought about what she said. His head tilted slightly as though he were listening closely although she was silent. "Clarissa…"

Mim interrupted, breezing past Stephen. "Clarissa will go," he said, patting her shoulder. "Town will be a nice change for you, Princess. I can get caught up on my correspondence and you can have a good time with Eric and Stephen." He gave Clarissa's shoulder a little squeeze. "Go, Princess. Have fun."

She slid out from under his touch, annoyed by the contact. "Yes," she said, surprising herself. "I'd like to go along." The agreement startled her, but Eric's smile made her feel more confident about it. She met his gaze and smiled back.

Stephen rubbed his hands together, cheering up at once. "Excellent, let's go."

-

-

-

The town was small, hardly a dozen streets intersecting. Clarissa let Eric hand her from the car, her dark eyes roving over the buildings in cool assessment. Stephen pointed Eric in the direction of the sweet shop and vanished about his own business. Eric offered Clarissa his hand. "Shall we, Clarissa?" he asked, his voice soft. She tucked her hand in his and they began walking.

It was nice, she mused, stealing glances at his profile, to be close to him and away from the house. The streets were quiet, only a few people about, and he seemed to be enjoying holding her hand. His fingers were warm in hers and she gave them a light press. His lips twitched into a smile and she felt a frisson run through her. It was almost like the feeling she got on the uneven bars, a little like flying while her feet were on the ground. She shivered a little. He looked down at her.

"Are you cold?" he asked in concern. She had no chance to answer before he released her hand and slid his arm across her shoulders. He pulled her closer to his side. Clarissa breathed in the scent of his skin and her stomach quivered in response. She looked up at him, her breath speeding up. He smiled down at her. "Is that better?"

"Oh," she whispered. "Yes."

They continued along the sidewalk, walking easily in step, their bodies touching from shoulder to hip. Clarissa slipped her arm around his waist, feeling his body moving alongside hers. She didn't really see anything on the street, her whole body was aware of his and it consumed her complete attention. Why was it so easy to touch him? Why didn't she duck away and put space between them? She didn't want to. She wanted… She had no real idea what she wanted but it definitely included being this close or, if possible, closer still. He glanced down at her and his smile turned slightly wicked.

"If you keep looking at me like that," he warned. "I will not be responsible for the outcome."

"Looking at you like what?" she asked. He chuckled.

"Like I am a piece of chocolate and you are planning to eat me up." He lifted his chin, fighting back his smile. "I fear I am in grave danger of forgetting you are my friend's niece."

"And what would be the outcome, Eric?" she asked breathlessly. "I should know the risks, shouldn't I?"

His eyes were full of some emotion she didn't recognize, it simmered under his skin until she felt scorched by it. He came to a halt and bent his head to hers, his lips settling over hers with gentle finality. She gasped, sipping the air from his mouth in astonishment. The caress was light and sweet, like nothing she'd ever felt before. Her head spun and she didn't realize that he'd pulled away for a moment. She was trembling when she blinked up at him. "That," he said gravely. "Is a very small sample of the outcome."

She nodded, her dark eyes slightly hazy. "That seems a trifle… lenient." Her voice was husky. "I seem to recall that assaults upon the person of a policeman used to carry the most severe penalties that the law allows." He chuckled and pulled her close again, starting them down the street.

"Some penalties are best paid privately," he reminded her. "And not in the middle of the village sidewalk."

They found the shop Stephen had suggested and Clarissa lost herself in the displays of chocolate, her complete attention absorbed by the scent of it that filled the small store. Eric watched her, amused by her wide-eyed browsing. "Do you see anything you like?" he asked after a few minutes.

Clarissa looked up at the question, frowning. "Stephen never said there were so many kinds," she complained. "Milk chocolate, dark…What is 'bittersweet'? It doesn't make sense to me."

He smiled and bought a piece of the latter. "Not everyone likes it," he warned. "Take a small taste." He held it to her lips and she nibbled the corner obediently. Her eyes closed as she explored the flavor on her tongue.

"It's sharp," she said softly. "Rich and dark." Her eyes opened again, looking up at him, and she thought that it tasted like him: completely new and different, nice and a little bit unsettling all at once. The comparison made her smile. "I like it." She wasn't certain if she meant the chocolate or his mouth and she decided it didn't matter.

He smiled, his mouth capturing her attention, and gave her the chocolate with a flourish. She accepted it, bobbing a curtsey, thinking they were both being silly. They left the sweet shop and Eric put his arm around her again.

She forgot about being silly and let herself enjoy his nearness.

-

-

-

When they got back to the car, Stephen was closing the boot, looking up with a startled expression that vanished at once. Clarissa felt a flicker of concern. She studied Stephen for a moment. "Is everything alright?" she asked suspiciously.

"Fine, Clarissa." He grinned, apparently pleased with himself. "Everything was what I expected it to be." He glanced at Eric. "Did you find the shop?"

"Yes," Eric answered. "We had a nice walk and Clarissa got some chocolate." He opened her car door and then closed it behind her before going round the car to get in on the other side. Stephen said nothing about the seating arrangements as they drove home again.

-

-

-

Stephen and Eric disappeared shortly afterward and Clarissa went upstairs to look in on Evey. She carried a glass of water and a packet of wafer thin biscuits with her. Evey answered her knock with a weary "Come in." and Clarissa slipped into her room. She found Evey lying down and hesitated.

"How do you feel, Evey?" she asked. The other woman groaned.

"Like I'm never going to get up again."

Clarissa nodded. "It will pass, you know. I brought you some water and, if that settles, a few biscuits for after." She took the water to Evey and helped her sit up. "Slowly, Evey. There's all the time in the world." When Evey was propped up, she gave her the glass. "Go slow, please. Too fast and you will make yourself sick."

Evey sipped the water, watching Clarissa over the rim of the glass. "Did you go into town with the boys?" she asked after a moment. Clarissa smiled wistfully.

"Yes, I did." Evey smiled at her.

"I take it you had a nice time?"

Clarissa fidgeted a bit. "Yes." Evey noticed the faint blush on her cheeks but said nothing about it. Instead she waited for Clarissa to speak again. The dark eyes rested on Evey for a moment, giving no clue to the thoughts that ran behind them. "Evey…" she said slowly.

"Yes?"

"I was…" She broke off, at odds with herself it seemed. "I was hoping you felt better." The sentence was not what she intended. She frowned at herself. "I should probably let you rest."

Evey patted the edge of the bed. "Please stay a little longer, Clarissa. The water seems to be helping but I don't think I can go downstairs yet." Clarissa came and sat down, settling gingerly on the bed and staring at Evey. Evey smiled at her encouragingly. "How is Eric today?"

"He seemed... Quite well." Clarissa was pinking up again. "He took me to the sweet shop in town." The girl obviously want to talk but her reserve was holding her back. Evey couldn't imagine being so restrained; Clarissa never spoke without weighing out her words carefully for fear of reprisals.

"Eric is a very gentle man," Evey said in the silence. "He is very careful of his friends and loyal to a fault." She reached out and touched Clarissa's hand. The girl startled at the contact but did not pull away. Evey was surprised that the girl allowed the gesture. "When I was in the JRC, we girls used to sit together and talk about the boys we noticed. It was always nice to have friends. When I marry Stephen, Clarissa, that will make us more family than we are now but I'd like to be your friend as well."

"You were in a JRC?" Clarissa frowned. "I've toured them." Her eyes darkened. "They were not pleasant."

"No, it wasn't," Evey agreed. "There were a lot of abuses there." She felt Clarissa shudder. "I know what Atherton did to you after the fall of Parliament, Clarissa. I can promise you that it isn't always like that." Clarissa averted her face, a gesture that meant Evey was treading on dangerous ground but the woman continued carefully. "It can be good to share that part of yourself with someone else, the exact opposite of having someone take it away from you."

Clarissa looked at her then and, while her face was a mask again, her eyes were filled with tears. She was silent for a long moment then eased her hand from Evey's. "I should go and see about lunch," she said very quietly. Evey's heart sank. She'd thought that Clarissa might confide in her for a minute. Clarissa didn't immediately rise, she was very still. Her face was blank, giving no clue to her thoughts, and Evey waited in hope. Finally Clarissa sighed. "Perhaps…" she whispered. "I might come and talk with you again?"

Evey felt a rush of excitement. That was more than she expected a second ago. "I would like that, Clarissa. I appreciate the water and the biscuits. I do feel better."

"Not eating can make you as sick as if you eat too much." Clarissa slid to her feet. "I will see you later, Evey." She moved toward the door and Evey resisted the urge to call her back. Instead she sat back and considered the conversation while she sipped her water.

-

-

-

Stephen slipped a disc into the stereo and turned it on. Music poured out of the speakers and he looked over at Eric. "How does it sound?" he shouted. Eric shook his head, pointing to his ears. Stephen turned down the volume. "How does it sound?" he asked again in a more reasonable voice. Eric laughed.

"It puts out a lot of decibels," he said. "I think you've blanketed the entire room with noise."

"Remember how she had the music at Burlwood? Top volume." Stephen chuckled. "I rather expect she did it for the immersion effect. It blocks out distractions." He remembered playing the Count of Monte Cristo as loud as possible while fencing. Eric looked around.

"You forgot the dummy," he said thoughtfully. Stephen frowned.

"What dummy?"

"The one she beat the hell out of it before she did the bars," he said. "I remember it clearly; it was a mannequin of some sort. She was practicing martial arts on it." Stephen thought about it.

"You're right," he said in some surprise. "I hadn't remembered that. Why did you?"

Eric studied a speaker, not quite ready to admit to his friend that he hadn't forgotten one moment of any time he'd seen Clarissa. "Police are trained to remember details," he said at length. "By the way," he moved on quickly to head Stephen off topic. "You never have told me why you saved me that night at the hotel. Haven't you gotten your pound of flesh yet?"

Stephen was caught off guard and he laughed in surprise. "Oh, yes." He clasped Eric's hand warmly. "Because you cared about Evey, Eric, and you were the one man in London I knew could be counted on to understand justice." He clapped Eric's shoulder. "Besides that, I hoped we might one day be friends and here we are."

-

-

-

Later that evening, Clarissa and Eric sat out in the arbor together, his arm behind her as she leaned against him. They spoke quietly together, heads close. From upstairs, Evey watched through the bathroom window, her brows knitted in thought. She was still there when Stephen came to join her. He looked over her shoulder thoughtfully then led Evey back to the bed. She looked at him for a moment and said "I think we need to talk." Stephen frowned and joined her on the bed.

"What is it, love?"

"I want to talk about Clarissa, Stephen, and I want your word that this stays between us."

"On my honour," he swore.

Evey started talking, watching her lover's expression grow darker and darker, before she finished with "And that's what I think after talking to her and after I started adding things together."

-

-

-

After Clarissa went to bed, she lay in the dark, thinking over Eric's kiss and how it made her feel. Her windows were open, the breeze carrying the scent of rain, the heaviness in the air lulling her to sleep. She drifted off, remembering the touch of his mouth, her dreams sweet.

Too soon they turned fretful and dark and she twisted in her bed, hands knotting in her sheets.

A hazy figure reached out to her, dressed in black, one hand outstretched in supplication. She heard "Claire! I need you." called out in an agonized voice, the tones as familiar as her own. She couldn't reach the figure even though she ran toward it.

It came no closer. Panicked, she fought the sluggishness of her body to try harder, pressing until her heart throbbed painfully in her chest and a sharp pain stabbed her side.

The figure dwindled in size and vanished, filling her with grief and pain.

She sat up in the dark, screaming a name over and over . "Bram! Oh, God, Bram!"


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Notes: Thank you to everyone who reviewed. Your words touch me deeply. It amazes me that you really seem to like the story. I've never really had such a warm reception before. Thank you to everyone who emailed me at my addy. I try to answer everyone. If I haven't yet, I will. Bear with me. I'm slow but I'll get there.----edited 11/01/07. Edit continues steadily, focused upon continuity, seamlessness and correcting inaccuracies. Still hoping that you all are enjoying the changes. ES

Disclaimers: As always, I don't own them, I shouldn't touch them, but oh, how fun it is to play with them. Please don't sue me.

**Memories and Melodies**

"Bram!" She screamed, the word as sharp as shattered glass in her throat. "Bram, don't go!"

She struggled to rise, the blankets tangling around her as the darkness had, keeping her from running after him. "Come back, Bram!" She gasped for air, her lungs heaving, her body hurting as it hadn't since the bullets pierced her flesh. "Don't leave me!"

A flood of brilliance blinded her and she threw an arm across her eyes to block it out. Panic boiled in her blood, followed closely by the soul-deep loss of him. She could not see, could only weep as someone gathered into a gentle embrace.

"Clarissa? Sweetheart?" The voice was foreign to her but somehow not unfamiliar. She fought against the arms around her.

"Let me go," she begged. "He's leaving me behind. I have to go..."

"You're dreaming, sweetheart," Stephen said, brushing back her hair. "Wake up."

She stared at him, completely befuddled. "No," she said slowly. Grief welled up behind the word. She tried to retreat behind the confines of her restraint and failed, tears spilling onto her cheeks. "I thought..."

Stephen gathered her into his arms. "Who is Bram?" he asked. "You've never mentioned him before." She sobbed, shaking her head. "Tell me?"

"Dreaming," she said brokenly. "Just a dream." She pulled back from him, her head bowed as her shoulders shook. "I'm sorry to have woken you." She was drowning in misery, the pain fresh and sharp, suffocating.

Mim spoke from behind her. "Clarissa, who is Bram?" he asked. She didn't look at him.

"Leave me alone," she said sharply, her voice thick with grief. Mim reached out and touched her shoulder tentatively. She flinched from the touch, "Let it be." She shook her head, not looking at any of them. "It was a dream, just a dream." Her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

"I can stay with her, Stephen," Mim said. "Until she goes back to sleep."

Stephen hesitated. "Clarissa?"

"Leave me alone," she snapped. "I don't need to be watched."

"Princess," Mim said slowly. "You aren't in a good place..."

"I'll be in my bed," she said bitterly. "As good a place as any. Just go away."

"I don't think that's wise." Mim's voice turned sharp. "You are obviously upset. I don't think you should be alone right now."

"I'll stay with her." Evey stepped into the room, wrapped in a silken robe. Her hair was still rumpled from sleep, but her eyes were clear and direct. "Why don't you gentlemen go back to bed? We girls will be fine alone." They reluctantly left and Evey closed the door behind them. "Clarissa, do you want the light on or off?"

"Off," Clarissa said wearily. She watched Evey flip the switch off but the darkness didn't bother her. "I'm sorry I woke you..."

"You didn't," Evey said lightly. "Do you mind if I share your bed, Clarissa? It's plenty big enough for two."

Clarissa shook her head before realizing the Evey couldn't see her. "No," she said. "You need your sleep, Evey." She got into bed on her own side, feeling Evey move into place on the other side of the mattress. "Thank you for making them leave."

Evey laughed softly. "You didn't want them here, did you? Eric was hanging in the hall when Mim offered to stay... I think he would have gladly choked Mim to death if you'd agreed."

"Why would Eric want to kill Mim?" Clarissa asked, stifling a yawn. "Mim usually just annoys me."

"I think Eric is jealous," Evey said slowly. "He doesn't particularly care for your therapist."

"Jealous?" Clarissa mulled that over for a moment, then "Do you think so?" she asked, her tone just a bit breathless. Evey grinned in the dark.

"Green, Clarissa. Green as grass." She laughed softly. "Poor Eric," she continued. "He likes you, you know." Clarissa shifted in the dark, turning so that she could see Evey. The other woman was smiling fondly. "I've never seen him as interested in anyone as he is with you, and I would never have expected it after what happened to his family."

"What family?" Clarissa asked suspiciously. Evey sighed, settling into the pillows.

"Eric was married once," Evey said. "His family was killed in a food riot years ago." She rubbed her stomach. "The force became his whole life after." There was silence for along moment.

"He had a family?" Clarissa's voice was wistful. "A family. I remember having family." She sighed. "It was better then, before there was just Atherton and me. I remember being happy playing with..."

"Bram?"

Clarissa stiffened. Evey reached out to touch her in the dark, fingers brushing the girl's arm.

"Clarissa, I am not trying to pry your secrets from you. I have called out for my brother in my sleep before. I did it almost every night in the JRC. I had terrors about bedtime, knowing that I would remember him, his smell, his laugh, just him... When you screamed, you called out 'Don't leave me!' I have said that very thing. I know that there were originally more of Evelyn's children and that you are the last. It would only make sense that you might remember them in a dream and that your dream would upset you." Evey sighed at her own memories. "Stephen wishes he'd known about you earlier, that he might have made a difference in your lives."

"He wouldn't have been able to change anything, Evey."

"Well, he would have tried..."

"England would never have been freed of Norsefire then. Atherton would have killed anyone who attempted to intervene." Clarissa shifted uneasily in the darkness, restlessly seeking a more comfortable position. Evey waited for a long moment.

"How many of you were there, Clarissa? Just you and Bram?"

"No." The word was soft, sad. "There were...others. Six of us, altogether, Evey."

"Six?" Evey was very still. "So many?" She considered it for a moment. "Oh, Clarissa, I am sorry for your loss. Were you close to them? Did Atherton allow you that?"

Clarissa was silent for a long time. Just when Evey thought she'd gone too far, pushed too hard, Clarissa spoke.

"We were born during a single month, April of the year that Larkhill burned." Clarissa's voice was soft, her tone wistful. "We were closer to each other than to anyone else, for we were all the same. We knew we were Evelyn's children, shared that bond, but we never knew our mothers. The only woman who came to see us was Dr. Stanton and she came whenever Atherton called her." Clarissa's hand found Evey's and she held it tightly as she spoke. "We hated her."

Evey flinched at the venom in Clarissa's voice. "What happened to them?" she asked. "Were you separated?"

"They died, Evey."

"Oh."

Evey squeezed Clarissa's hand lightly. "I'm sorry, Clarissa," she whispered. "Were you very young?"

"I was eight then. I remember that was when Mari died. She had marks all over her, blisters... the St. Mary's virus. Stanton couldn't help her, nothing she did made any difference. Jules was shattered by it, of course. They were inseparable."

"Jules?"

"Yes. He cried for days, she was his favorite and he couldn't manage to get along without her. Antony found him a week later, after Jules'd gotten into the household chemicals and drunk nearly all of them." The words were bleak, hopeless.

"Oh, my God," Evey gasped. "He was only eight?"

Yes." Clarissa shivered in the dark. "Antony made it to our twelfth birthday. He crossed Atherton and was beaten by a Fingerman. It took him a long time to die."

Clarissa tried to force the pain away but she couldn't. Evey squeezed her hand to remind her she wasn't alone. Clarissa began again. "After that Bram and Caine watched over me and I watched over them. Caine was the next. He plotted an escape, to help us disappear, but Atherton found out and had him taken away. We were sixteen. I don't know what happened to him. Atherton just informed us at breakfast one morning that Caine was dead, with the same inflection you might use to say it's raining." Clarissa's voice grew thick with sadness. "At eighteen, Bram was caught out by Creedy's men. I found out later he'd been seen with someone in town, apparently someone in the underground or on the watch list. The Fingermen bagged him and took him." She shook her head. "I tried to save him, I tried to get him back but they threw me into my room and locked me in." She caught her breath in a sob. "I was alone then, and I was afraid. I would be next if I did anything wrong."

Evey gripped her hand tightly. "You aren't alone now, Clarissa. You have us now."

"I know." Clarissa shook with silent grief. "But I know that nothing is guaranteed, Evey. No happiness is lasting, no family immune to loss. I won't lose again. I can't."

Evey reached out to her. "I lost my brother, my parents to Fingermen, Clarissa, but the Fingermen are gone. You helped to destroy them with Stephen. Atherton is dead, he won't be making any new ones." She ran her hand over Clarissa's shoulder. "You are safe here in Gallowsmere. We are well protected." She pulled Clarissa closer. "Believe me, Clarissa, Stephen would walk through hell to keep his family safe."

"Don't say that," Clarissa whispered. "Don't tempt fate, Evey. Don't." She started to cry in earnest, letting the other woman comfort her. It was a long time before they fell asleep.

-

-

-

Morning came brilliant and warm.

Clarissa woke to a person's knee in the small of her back and the realization that it was Evey made her remember her confessions of the night before. Clarissa felt embarrassed as she slipped out of bed and gathered her clothes for the day. She showered and dressed in her leotard before putting on the comfortable sweats and then her trainers. She went downstairs, footsteps light and sure until she came to the kitchen. Mim was sitting at the table, a cup of tea before him, and he looked up at her entrance. His eyes were red rimmed with lack of sleep.

"Feeling better, Princess?" he asked flippantly. She studied him for a moment.

"Somewhat," she replied in a cool voice. "You don't look so good, however."

"Everyone has a sleepless night or two," Mim said. He waited while she got some tea. When she sat down, he watched her sip the tea and asked "Who is Bram?" She choked on the tea, nearly dropping her cup.

"I'd rather not discuss it." She stared at him. "Perhaps later." She shrugged. "It can wait for a session, can't it?"

Mim closed his eyes. "You're right, Princess," he said wearily. "I've been up too long and I'm too tired to be of any use." He smiled but the expression seemed wrong to her. "I'll just go off to bed, shall I, and let you spend some time with the Inspector." He got up, put his cup in the sink and vanished, leaving her staring after him.

She was deep in thought when Stephen joined her. "Good morning, pretty girl," he said, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head. "Where's my woman?"

"Still abed," she replied. "I'm sorry I woke you all last night. I haven't had nightmares in a long time."

"Well, it was just one night, sweetheart. All is well now?"

She watched him silently, her chocolate eyes thoughtful. Stephen joined her at the table and smiled over his cup at her. She offered him her hand across the table and he took it in his own, pressing her fingers affectionately.

When they were touching, she said "There is nothing you could have done, Uncle Stephen. Nothing would have changed for us if you'd come to us or known us sooner." She gripped his hand intensely. "Don't ever think that it would have made a difference for V to have told you about us, assuming he knew, or for you to have found us." She stared at his hand in hers, unable to look him in the eyes. "You could not have done all you did with the burden of children. It served a greater good in the end, you see?"

He was speechless. "Clarissa…"

"I talked with Evey last night, Stephen. She said it troubles you sometimes. Don't allow it to trouble you. I don't blame you anymore for Atherton's actions. You can't blame yourself either. Tragic things happen and that's the part we have to live with: they are tragic and they just happen." Clarissa slid out of her seat and slipped around the table, still holding his hand. She put an arm around him. "Thank you for taking me in and caring for me."

He wrapped an arm around her waist and hugged her. "I told you that I loved you, sweetheart."

She ruffled his hair with her free hand. "Don't expect me to accept a familial connection just because you and my father were monozygotic, Uncle Stephen," she said with mock sternness. He laughed and she pulled away. "I'm for the playroom today," she said. "Do you want to run later?"

Stephen nodded. "After lunch, perhaps?"

"Certainly. I think I can pencil you into my dance card, amongst all the young wags who're beating a path to my door." She missed the glint in his eye as she turned away. "I'll see you later." She left the kitchen and banged out the back door. At a brisk walk, she headed for the old stables. Stephen galloped upstairs, caught Eric coming down and grabbed him.

"Come on, Eric," he said excitedly. "She's on her way out to the playroom. If we hurry, we might beat her there." He dragged Finch downstairs into the cellar and into the passage.

-

-

-

Clarissa unlocked the playroom and stepped inside, pulling the heavy door closed behind her. She locked it again. Flipping on the lights, she turned around and her mouth fell open. A gleaming stereo stood in a place of honor on a shelf with a bow attached to it. She looked around and saw the speakers mounted everywhere. With a squeal, she ran to it and checked the disc holders. Several discs were already in the player, with a dozen more sitting in a row to the side. She studied the selection, bouncing on her toes, breathless with excitement. She started the player then stripped off her sweats and shoes. By the time the intro had played, she was ready to begin.

She vaulted onto the balance beam and let the music carry her into the familiar routines. She felt good today, she was alive and for now, the past didn't exist.

-

-

-

When they reached the door at the end of the tunnel, Stephen heard the music and eased the door open. Waving to Eric to remain silent, he slipped out into the playroom and let Eric pass him. The policeman stoopped in his tracks, riveted by the sight of Clarissa on the balance beam. He watched as she performed her art, her lithe body tight and beautiful in the revealing leotard.

There was a savage grace of her movements spoke of long practice and experience. She flipped into a handstand, legs dividing into a split, and held the pose far longer than Eric would have expected. With almost shocking fluidity, she shifted positions and dismounted the beam.

Stephen drew Eric down to the floor. The older man sat down, unable to take his eyes off Clarissa. She exuded confidence as she moved from one piece of equipment to another. There was no sign of the frightened girl she'd been on the first night he'd arrived; not the bitter interrogator, not the injured woman. This Clarissa was all joy and happiness. He was captivated by the life in her. She finally came to the uneven bars and she flew as the music drove her to do more, to work harder, to reach higher. At last she dismounted, landing sure-footed upon the matted floor.

She stood for a moment then sank to the floor, arms outspread. She lifted her head when the music switched off, alarmed at first, then pleased to see Stephen. She let her head fall back to the mat.

"Marvelous, Uncle Stephen. Bloody marvelous!" she exclaimed breathlessly.

Stephen grinned down at her as he towered over her. "Tired, are you?" he teased. "I thought that the music might make for a better programme and I thought Eric and I deserved to see the fruit of our labors."

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. "Eric?" she said in surprise. He stepped out of the shadows and she met his gaze. "You did this?"

"I helped Stephen with the speakers," he said, his voice low. "I admit I never expected that you used all this. I only saw you with a few things at Burlwood."

Stephen offered his niece a hand up which she accepted. "As lovely as you were, sweetheart, I have to go and see to Evey." She grinned up at him.

"Thank you for the music, Uncle Stephen." She leaned up and gave him a kiss on the jaw. "It was a wonderful surprise."

Stephen went out through the stable doors, leaving Eric and Clarissa alone. She walked toward him, trying not to hide from his eyes. "Thank you, Eric, for helping him."

He stared at her face, seeing the blush that pinked her cheeks and the life in her eyes. "Do I get a kiss for my efforts?" he asked lightly. She blushed a little darker but leaned into him. Her lips grazed his jaw before she stepped back.

"Is that proper enough?" she asked, looking up at him coyly.

"They were very heavy speakers," he said thoughtfully. "Surely I deserve more than that?"

She considered the question before nodding soberly. "I see your point, Eric. Perhaps you do deserve more than that." She gripped his shirtfront and pulled him in close, lifting her mouth to his.

The kiss began well, then deepened into something more. Clarissa lifted one hand to the back of his head while her mouth opened under his. He kissed her fiercely, struggling not to be too rough but hungry for her. His tongue delved into her mouth and explored the moist secrets behind her lips as his hands pressed her closer. She copied him, letting her tongue duel with his. When he pulled back, he was panting and so was she. A glint of mischief in her eyes made him wonder what she was thinking. She considered him carefully. "Are you satisfied?" she asked. He shook his head.

"Not by half, my girl." She lifted a brow.

"Is that true?" she asked. "The second part there, not the first."

"My girl?" He mentally cursed his inattention. "I'd like it to be," he said, watching her to see what she thought of it.

"And what does the job entail, Inspector?" she asked. "I'm not sure I have the qualifications to suit the position." He nearly groaned at the image the last word conjured. Clarissa laid her hand over his heart, feeling its rapid tempo. "I mean it would be terrible to take the placement from some perfectly suited woman and give it to someone utterly unqualified."

"Well," Eric said slowly, contemplating the question. "You'd need to be a girl, first of all."

"I am." She grinned. "I have that already."

"You'd need to be about this tall," he held a hand up level with the top of her head. She eyed the distance.

"Have that too."

"Eyes like bittersweet a definite plus." Those eyes were on him as he spoke and he felt a rush of desire for her. "Athletically inclined another plus."

She gestured toward the playroom toys. "That's two more in my favor." She tilted her head, looking up at him. "And what would my duties be?"

"Varied. We'll start you out light, with just a little touching and some kissing. Then when you feel you have the position well in hand, we'll give you a bit more responsibility." He bit back a smile. "We do provide on the job training as part of your employment."

"Ah," she said, laughter in her voice. "So I wouldn't be in at the deep end. You'll help me find my bearings, will you?" He nodded.

"I'll help you find anything you want," he swore sincerely. She reached out to stroke his cheek, her wrist exposed to him. He turned his mouth to her arm, kissing her delicate skin. She sucked in a breath.

"Eric," she whispered. "I don't know if I can…"

"We will go slow," he promised. He let his eyes rove over the contours of her face. "I can wait for you, Clarissa." He felt again that connection with her, the need in her that matched the need in him. "I won't break, my girl, and neither will you. We can keep each other safe."

For a moment, the nightmares were in her eyes, the soul-deep terror, and then she blinked, looking at him instead, seeing him.

"Pace the session," she whispered. "You have the control for it, don't you?" She stepped into his arms, winding hers around his neck. "You'll talk to me, won't you?" He heard her parroting his words from the chair and he shook with the responsibility she laid on him and the trust she gave him.

"We'll begin simply," he said hoarsely before bending his head to capture her mouth. This kiss was warm and sweet, a gentle meeting of mouths that staggered Eric, and he moaned as she pressed against him. It was simply going to kill him, he thought before losing himself to her kiss.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Hello, Nice People!! We are feeling a little energetic today and so we've knocked out another chapter for your perusal. There are great things afoot and we need to get them together.---edited 11/1/07. Edited for continuity, seamlessness and error correction. ES

Disclaimer: I am in the land of not owning V. I possess nothing but a burning desire for more story, more fun, more angst, and mayhem. Lots of mayhem. I hope. Sadly I do not own V or the V-verse, whether it is GN or Movie based. Poor EnigmaSphinx.

**More things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio**

A week later

Clarissa sat with Mim in the arbor, her eyes closed as he spoke to her in a soft voice. Her face was calm but there was a tension about her that kept her from dropping into trance. Mim was growing frustrated with her resistance, which had proven an issue since the night after the nightmare.

"You aren't focusing, Princess," he said sharply. Her eyes opened at once. "This hasn't been a problem before."

"I'm…I can't…" she gestured vaguely. "I don't know why."

"Princess," he tried again. "You've gone a step back. If there something that would make you feel better? Something you might find gives you a sense of peace?"

Eric, she thought wistfully. Mim's head turned toward her, his brows knitting into a frown and she realized she'd said it aloud. "I feel safe with Eric, Mim," she said apologetically. "I don't know why but I do."

Mim rubbed his forehead. "Do you want him in your session?" he asked. "You recall many things that are unpleasant, even downright terrible. Do you want him to hear them?"

She thought about it, not certain she wanted the gentle policeman to know her secrets and yet not entirely certain that he didn't already. She finally nodded. "Better he knows them now," she whispered. "Than to have him shocked later." She turned her face toward Mim. "Yes, Mim. Let him join us."

The slender man got to his feet and went in search of Eric.

Mim found the policeman in his room, reading a book. The door was open and Mim rapped on the wooden panel to alert the man to his arrival. Eric looked up, marking the page with his finger. "Good afternoon, Mim," he said politely. "How can I help you?"

Mim hesitated at the door, his face serious. "Clarissa is having difficulty in our session. She thinks that she might be able to concentrate better if you were present. Do you feel like sitting in, Inspector?"

He brightened visibly then turned serious as well. "Would you recommend it, Mim? She's your patient, after all."

Mim paused. "She's never allowed it before," he said slowly. "And so I don't know what her reaction will be. However, she believes herself to be safe with you, Inspector." He paused. "Is she safe with you?"

"I would never do anything to hurt her." Eric's tone brooked no argument, his eyes fiercely tender. Mim nodded.

"Then I don't think it can harm her to have you there. She's opening up to you, to her family more because of you. It's a good thing and long past due." He beckoned. "Come then, if you will."

Back downstairs, Clarissa waited in her chair for their arrival, trying to will her discomfort away. Mim was more intense today, his attitude somehow wrong, and that was making her feel jumpy. A footstep alerted her to Mim's return and she glanced over to find Eric a pace behind him. The policeman's face was concerned, his eyes searching hers for some sign of her mood. She smiled at him. "Eric."

"Clarissa, my girl." He took a seat beside her, close enough to feel his warmth and yet not touching. "How can I help?"

"Clarissa is going to place herself under a light hypnotic state and I will deepen it through suggestion." Mim answered. He held Clarissa's gaze. "Do you want to begin again?"

"Yes," she answered. "Sooner started, sooner finished." She closed her eyes and Mim began the introduction to hypnosis. This time, she slipped under almost at once, her breathing deep and even. Eric watched her curiously. Mim strengthened and deepened the trance, his voice smooth and soothing, until Clarissa's body was completely relaxed.

"Clarissa, you had a nightmare last week. Do you remember it?" he asked. She nodded, brows furrowing into a frown. "You called out a name… Who were you calling to?"

"Bram." Clarissa shrank back in the chair. "Bram was here."

"Who is Bram?"

Eric could see the struggle on her face. "Bram…Bram…" She frowned and her attitude changed, becoming sharper as she leaned forward. "Why do you need to know?" she hissed.

"You screamed his name. Is he important to you?" Mim stayed steady. Clarissa tilted her head.

"He's dead," she said at last, flipping one hand up. "Grandfather killed him, had him killed, had Creedy kill him… Which ever one, it's all the same. They took him and I never saw him again." She bared her teeth in a feral smile. "When V killed Creedy, it was the first time I bent my back to the lash with a blessing in my heart for the bastard who fathered me." She tilted his head. "Is that what you needed?"

"It's a question of what you need, Clarissa." Mim said. "You need to heal."

She shook her head. "How do you propose that, Mim?" Her voice was ragged. "Are you an only child? Have you ever had a bond with a sibling blood deep and endless as eternity?" She turned her face aside. "Can you bring them back to me? I will always be incomplete without them, so what purpose in pretending otherwise?"

"Bram was your brother?" Mim asked breathlessly. He leaned forward, eyes bright. "Tell me, Princess. Tell me more."

"Bram, my beautiful brave brother, Caine my courageous clever keeper…Gone." She hissed in pain. "Beat me, bruise me, batter me. You've taken all I want, there's nothing left but the hope of revenge. May V win the war." She laughed softly. "Pain will not move me any longer. I'll die of the loneliness and the loss first." She wrapped her arms around herself. "At least I'll die and I can pray they forgive me for surviving so long."

"They would not want you to die, Clarissa."

She turned bleak eyes to Mim. "There is no softness in the world," she said flatly. "Only agony and being alone. I won't break for that, it's not enough to make me give in." Her head turned toward Eric. "You," she said in surprise. "You've the power to break me. Your eyes are so warm…" She lifted a hand to his cheek. "I knew when I saw your eyes that I would die of it. I was grateful to look into your face and know there was one man left in the world who had a gentle heart." She trembled. "It's a good way to die, isn't it?"

Eric flicked Mim a glance and the other man nodded, gesturing him to speak. He bent his head toward hers. "Don't die, Clarissa," he whispered. "I don't want you to die."

She regarded him, eyes full of grief and secrets. "Why not?" she asked. "Didn't I hurt you? Didn't I?" She frowned. "Didn't I try to break you?"

"You didn't want to," he said to her softly. "Your heart wasn't in the work and you let me walk away. Remember that day? You chose me. Not Evey or Dom. Me. I stood it and you stood it with me. You could have broken me."

"No, I couldn't. I couldn't poison you with Grandfather's venom, take the light from your eyes, and make you a shell without the heart in you. I wouldn't." She shuddered, her face contorting in pain. "I welcomed the bullets, knowing that you'd be free. Why didn't you let me go?"

"I would have followed you," he whispered. "I would have done anything to bring you back."

"I'm ruined," she sighed. "A bad bargain, all things told."

"Ruined how?" Mim asked. "What to you makes you ruined, Clarissa?"

"I have been used up," she said, hanging her head. "I am not to have a life other than Grandfather's will. I've been put with the Fingermen five times. They like fresh meat." She gritted her teeth. "I should have slit my own throat the second time and been done with it but I wasn't strong enough."

Mim was white with horror, eyes wide as he stared at her. "Clarissa..."

She shook her head again. "That's what cost me Caine. He tried to help us escape and he was discovered. Grandfather took him away. If I hadn't turned up pregnant, if Stanton's tests hadn't revealed the baby, they may not have found us gone for days. Long enough to get lost in the wilds, Caine said, long enough to live free." She lifted her hands to fist them in her hair. "Grandfather had Palmer beat me with batons. Stanton made sure there'd be no more. She filled me with poison enough to kill me and Grandfather kept me in line with the cure. Caine was gone" Her voice was desolate. "I felt it die inside me…" She moaned, rocking in her seat. "There was so much blood." Her voice crept toward hysteria.

Eric was sick at what she was saying, even sicker that she blamed herself for Atherton's evil. A baby, forcibly removed, after a series of violent rapes. His heart ached for her. He looked to Mim, wondering what he should do.

The therapist was shaking visibly, his eyes filled with agony. "How old were you, Princess?" he asked in a strangled voice.

"Not quite sixteen." Clarissa shivered violently. "It was in April, before our birthdays. The baby would have been born in November, around Father's day, Stanton said." She whimpered. "I remember that. I remember. Why can't I just forget it?" She writhed in the chair with distress.

Mim reached out to her. "Clarissa, remember the rules? This is only remembering. It happened a long time ago and it does not have the power to make you suffer now. You must let the pain pass, let it leave you and move on. You may never forget, that is unlikely, but the memories do not have the power to hurt you now." He hesitated, glancing at Eric then back at his patient. "This chair will keep you in the here and now; the memories will come and go. You are safe here." As he spoke, she settled slowly in her chair, her agony fading a little at a time until she was again still. "You should remember the good things between you and Bram and Caine. The happiness you shared. Not focus on the loss of them. Can you do that, Clarissa? Can you remember them with love and not the pain of their leaving?"

She sat with her head bowed, her shoulders heaving although she no longer was taut with pain. "We were one person, the three of us," she said softly. "They were with me from conception. Why couldn't they have stayed with me until death? Why couldn't I follow?"

"They were…You were triplets?" Mim's shock was evident in the soft question.

"Multiples run in the genetic lineage," Clarissa replied bitterly. "There were three singles and us. The six." She shook her head. "I don't want to talk to you anymore."

"Eric is sitting beside you, Clarissa. Can he ask you questions?"

"I will answer him," she whispered.

"The six, " Mim whispered to Eric. "Ask!"

"The six," Eric repeated. "What happened to the six?"

-

-

-

After the session, Clarissa vanished inside the house to freshen up and Mim sat with Eric. Neither spoke for a long time. Eric looked at Mim finally. "May I ask you a question about today?"

Mim nodded, his expression drawn. "I think you have that right."

"Did you know about this?"

"No, Inspector. I didn't. I suspected some of it. I never thought that she was part of triplets or that she'd gotten pregnant." Mim shuddered in horror. "With her heightened senses, the loss must have been atrocious." He covered his face with his hands. "Oh, my God. Avery must have been a true monster, a vile creature."

Eric got to his feet. "He was," he said shortly. "I need to go see Clarissa." He went inside and upstairs without seeing anyone. When he came to Clarissa's door, he knocked gently. There was silence. He tried the door, surprised when it opened easily. Clarissa lay on the bed, curled into a ball, crying silently. Eric stepped inside and closed the door. "Clarissa?"

She sobbed harder, her body shaking. He came to stand beside the bed, looking down at her. "Oh, my girl," he said gently. "That was awful for you." He sat down gingerly, so as not to frighten her. "I want to comfort you. Will you let me hold you?"

She didn't speak and he took her silence for agreement. He eased up behind her, reaching around her to enfold her in his arms. "I have you now," he said in a whisper. "I have you, Clarissa. I won't let you fall." He pulled her against his chest, feeling the chills running through her and silently offering her his warmth. She was small enough to fit against him comfortably, easily held in his arms. She still wept, the tears soaking into his sleeve under her head and he nuzzled the side of her throat. "My beautiful girl," he whispered against her. "My poor girl." He stroked her arm with his free hand, his other arm folded over her body protectively.

"Why are you here?" she asked brokenly. "You know about my past now. Why are you still here?"

"Because I've been in love with you since I first saw you," he confessed, speaking against the side of her neck. "When you burst into tears at Stephen's flat, I saw those deep brown eyes and I was lost. Everything you remembered today was true then and it makes no difference to me now. I'm still mad about you." He pressed a kiss against her shoulder. "You cannot change the past, my girl, only the future."

"I don't think I am supposed to have a future, Eric."

"You beat the odds, Clarissa. I am lying here now, holding you, and thinking of a time when I hold you for entirely different reasons. I want to help you heal; I want to see you happy. Even if it is with someone else, whatever it takes." He gritted his teeth against the pain that thought brought him. "I want those brown eyes to be the last thing I see at night and the first thing I see in the morning. I was to kiss the laughter back into you, the sorrow out of you. I was to be in your life all the time, not just a visitor to your house."

As he spoke, the tears stopped falling and she lay quietly against him, listening. "I'm afraid," she whispered. His arms tightened a little.

"I have you safe," he swore. "I won't let you break." She trembled.

"Perhaps I need to break, Eric," the words came quietly. "I can't be how I am now. I want to be with you. I want the things you tell me you want, and I don't know how to find them, much less have them." She heaved a long weary sigh. "Can you show me?"

Joy, hot and fierce, surged through him, his heart opening at her trust. "You tempt me to forget going slow, my girl," he said huskily. She reached up and took his free hand in hers, drawing it to her mouth and kissing the palm.

"I trust these hands," she told him. "I remember that you held my hand when I was in hospital with the toxin. You kept stroking my hand and I thought I would be happy to die with that touch on my skin."

"You knew about that?" She shifted slightly closer.

"Yes," she said. "I couldn't move, the toxin had paralyzed my body but hadn't shut my mind down. I couldn't thank you then." She glanced over her shoulder. "It was nice of you."

"I told you," he said, punctuating his words with kisses on her neck. "I was already half gone on you. I died a little each minute we waited." He nipped her earlobe, suckling it gently. Clarissa gasped softly.

"Eric." Her voice was rough. "That feels… oh, good." He chuckled around his prize.

It was tempting to push her, more tempting to let her push for more, but Eric hadn't become a police Inspector without learning a bit about patience. He teased her with touches and kisses, inciting her desire at a leisurely pace while holding back his own desperate urges. By the time his hand slipped under her blouse, she was panting with the needs he'd woken in her. She groaned as his hand trailed over her midriff. "Eric," she begged.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked.

"No!"

He was caught off guard when her hand reached between them and cupped him. She stroked him through his trousers and it was his turn to groan. She laughed shakily. "Do you want me to stop?"

"Ah," he gasped, hips pressing into her touch. "God, don't stop!"

"You're wearing too many clothes," she protested. Her hand tightened a little and he moaned into her neck. He fought to think clearly but it was a losing battle with her fingers around him.

"Clarissa," he begged. She turned toward him then, her eyes shining with promises.

"Yes, Eric?"

"I can't pace the session when you do that."

In response, she unbuttoned his shirt with one hand, kissing each inch she bared. Her other hand kept his erection caged, moving enough to keep his attention. She touched his chest with light fingertips, tracing the lines of his body. "Perhaps you'll have to settle for keeping up, Eric," she suggested. "Sometimes pacing is not the important part."

She shifted and pressed him back on the mattress, straddling his hips. She leaned forward to kiss his mouth, her tongue toying with his, and then straightened to shed her blouse. She was exquisite, her breasts ripe in their lacy prison. She shed the garment with ease, tossing it aside. Eric's eyes widened in appreciation, his attention on the dusky nipples that tightened and pebbled as he watched. Clarissa looked down at him, her eyes dark with passion.

"_Is docha nach bhfuil seans ar bith ann?_"1 She asked politely. Eric eyes widened and he sat up to wrap his arms around her.

"_Tá grá agam duit, mo mhúirnín bán_!"2 he exclaimed. "You speak Gaelic?"

"I learned it to irritate Atherton. I never expected to date an Irishman." She looked down at him, head tilted, her hair streaming over her shoulders. "Am I your fair darling, Eric?" she asked.

"Yes," he groaned against her. "And no, a ride isn't out of the question, _bhean_.3 But properly, please." He ached for her, his body burning for hers. She eased off him and went to lock the door while he shed his trousers. When she turned around, her eyes ran over him like a physical touch and her face was soft and open. She stripped off her slacks and panties before coming back to him, dressed only in her skin. He could see the scars from the bullets, the surgery that saved her life, and they did nothing to detract from the fact that she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She put herself in his hands.

"Show me," she said sweetly. "You promised training and I will need it now."

He laid her on the bed, kissing her deeply and then slid next to her. His hands shook as he petted her again, murmuring soft endearments in his mother's tongue. She trembled as he touched her but all too soon the passion kindled again and she was gasping his name. He touched her mound, splayed his fingers through her curls and dipped lower to where she was warmest and wettest. She arched into his hand, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Please," she begged. "Eric, please!"

He knelt between her legs and pushed into her, forcing himself to go slowly. Clarissa's eyes widened and she bucked under him, taking him deeper. She was hot and wet, surrounding him in a warm welcome, and Eric's eyes closed in bliss. He held himself in check, wanting to see to her first, but Clarissa needed only a little encouragement. The sight of her pleasure shining so clearly on her face, the gasping sobs of his name and her fingers clinging to him brought him over the edge and they fell together in a fiery explosion of pleasure.

He rolled to lie beside her, gathering her up in his arms. She trembled with aftershocks but her hands roamed over him in wonder. "Have you been hiding that this whole time?" she whispered. "You evil man."

"I thought I would have a stroke seeing you in your gym outfit," he said, his voice a rough purr under her ear. "I like this outfit much better."

"I'll wear it more often," she promised. "Anytime you'll care to see it again."

"Better empty your closet, my girl. This may well be the only thing you're wearing from now on." He brought the blanket over them both and they fell asleep, cocooned in one another's warmth.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

1 According to the Alternative Dictionary, this is a joking/profane way of asking for a romp, to the effect "I suppose there isn't a chance of a ride?"

2 According to the Irish Gaelic Handout, this means "I love you, my fair darling."

3 Bhean: woman


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: Alrighty then, kids. I really felt that a small transition piece was needed and so the following chapters will be bumped a bit. I skipped a lot of time between the original chapters, jumping from the bedroom and rushing into the next bit of jeopardy without any real transition. I was a bit... um...overeager, I think. So without further ado, an insertion here. ES

Disclaimer: I still don't own the rights to play with these characters or to dabble in their world. I do it out of a misguided love of them, out of my delight in their story and the hope that a happier ending will one day come to the fans of V4V. I make nothing from this effort, except a little bit of happiness for myself.

**Paved With Good Intentions But Still Bumpy...**

Two weeks later:

In the dark, Clarissa lay in Eric's arms and listened to him breathing.

She couldn't sleep, couldn't bring herself to close her eyes and fall into the inevitable dreams. Every night, despite Eric's presence in her bed, she dreamed of Bram and the pain was as raw and fresh as the day he was taken away from her. Each time that the dream came to her and he vanished from her reach, she died a little inside. He had been gone for years, missed and mourned, but she was back to grieving for him.

Eric shifted in his sleep, pulling her tighter against his body.

Clarissa liked the feel of him beside her, the warmth of his skin seeping into hers as she lay with her ear pressed to his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. While she was awake, she wanted nothing as much as she wanted him. He touched her body and her spirit, loved her with his hands and his mouth, whispered to her in the dark of promises and praise. She didn't feel badly about sleeping with him. Evey had been right when she said that giving yourself to someone was far different than someone taking what they wanted from you. During the day, Clarissa could drift to sleep in his arms afterward, contentedly blissful and at peace. At night though, it wasn't quite that easy. Darkness brought with it dreams and grief and regrets that her lover's presence couldn't banish.

She wouldn't sleep tonight.

She eased from her place beside Eric and slipped into the bathroom. Anxiety simmered in her veins, muddling her thoughts, and she needed to banish it. She dressed in the dark, scrambling into her clothes and catching up her trainers. Barefoot, she padded from the bath and crept out into the hallway. Gallowsmere was as quiet as old houses could be and Clarissa knew that the other occupants were asleep. She made her way downstairs and into the cellar, knowing that she was risking Stephen's anger by going out into the stables but desperate for the promise of peace that her playroom offered her.

She disabled the alarms and hurried out to the stables through the hidden passage.

-

-

-

She made three circuits of the room before acknowledging that the exercise wasn't going to ease the terrible anxiety in her heart.

She'd held nothing back, had pressed herself harder than ever, but her nerves had tightened to the point of pain. She couldn't lose herself in the music, couldn't find a sense of release. Frustration spilled into tears and she finally collapsed onto the matted floor before allowing herself to give in to her sorrow. She was alone. No one would hear her weeping, no one would ask her what she needed to feel better, and no one would see her surrender to her pain.

"Clair."

The word came to her softly. At first she didn't recognize it but suddenly it cut through her sobs and she heard her name called again.

"Clair."

She scrambled to her feet, immediately defensive. She scanned the playroom for intruders, seeing nothing in the shadows but sensing that she was not alone any longer. "Show yourself," she snapped. "I will sound the alarm and bring the whole house here."

"Clair." The sound was nearby. She whirled and saw something, someone, move in the darkness. Her heart fell at the size of the shadowy form but she didn't falter. "I've been waiting for you."

Ice trickled down her spine. Her belly was hollow with fear but she forced her body to move, spinning gracefully and racing for the opening of the secret passage. She caught the handle, yanking the door open but something solid and heavy slammed against her back. It pinned her in place, immobilized her. She opened her mouth to scream. A hand was clapped across her lips, cutting off any sound, and Clarissa knew a moment of horror. She was caught, arms pinioned by the intruder, and yanked off her feet, her back pressed against someone huge. She struggled, flailing against the hold but unable to get her self free, until lips brushed the edge of her ear.

"Stop fighting me, you little idiot, or you'll get hurt." A grunt told her that her flailing feet had connected with his legs. He shook her a little roughly. "Be still a moment! Christ, Clair, stop being a brat!"

Recognition came at the words, followed by the knowledge that this was impossible.

She was dreaming again, wasn't she? Lying in her bed with Eric, dreaming of things that couldn't possibly happen, of people dead and lost but not ever forgotten... She closed her eyes, letting herself go limp.

I've gone mad, she thought. I've lost what little mind Atherton let me keep and I am barking mad.

-

-

-

Eric woke with a start, seeking out Clarissa automatically.

He'd dreamt of her on that fateful day, the blood on her mouth as she tried to smile at him. The lingering horror roiled in his stomach and he reached for her in the dark, knowing that touching her would banish the fear, ground him in the reality that she was whole and alive and his.

The bed was empty.

Eric blinked as he realized she was gone. For an instant, Clarissa's shooting was so real, so vivid, that he questioned himself. Had she been killed that day in Atherton's apartment? Were the memories of loving her some illusion he'd built to tolerate her death? He tried to grasp reality and his hold was shaky. Clarissa was alive, she shared her bed with him. He was at Gallowsmere, in her room, in her bed... Where was she?

He got up and pulled on his robe, frowning in the dark. A glance at the clock showed him the time: three twenty in the morning. He went downstairs quietly, looking for his lover, wondering where she had gone to.

She was in the kitchen, sitting at the table, a cup of tea before her. In the half-light, he noticed that she was dressed for the gym, her brown hair bound back, her hands clasped on the table as she stared at her cup. She looked exhausted, her face lined with tension, and she didn't move when he came into the room.

"Clarissa?"

Deep brown eyes lifted to his face. Her expression was haunted, bleak. Eric stepped closer. "What is it?" he asked gently. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head and turned back to her tea. "I couldn't sleep. The night is full of ghosts." She picked up her cup and her hands were shaking, he noticed. His heart ached at the pain in her words and he went to stand beside her.

"Clarissa..."

"I don't want to talk." She sipped the tea and settled the cup again. He wondered at her tone. There was no life in it, none of her usual fire warmed the words she spoke.

"May I sit with you?" he asked. At her nod, he eased into the chair beside her. Clarissa clung to her teacup, fingers wrapped around the warm mug. Eric noticed that her shoulders shook with fine tremors as she stared at the tea in her cup. "How can I help you?" At the question, her lips twitched into a bitter echo of a smile.

She shook her head again. "I don't think you can."

Sadness seemed to fill the room. Eric folded his hands on the table and wondered what he could say to her that might ease her heart. "I love you, Clarissa," he murmured at last, afraid that it wasn't enough. "I know it doesn't change what you are feeling right now, but I love you. I'm here for you."

She didn't speak, merely sat silently, her attention absorbed in her cup. After a long moment, she turned to him. "You shouldn't," she remarked. "I'm not the girl you seem to think I am." She shook her head, silencing his retort. " I've hurt you before, Eric, and I'll hurt you again."

He stared at her for a long moment, speechless at her assertion. "Clarissa..."

She slid from her chair and moved across the room to place her cup in the sink. "Not tonight, Eric. No more." For a moment, she hovered at the edge of the sink, staring out into the darkness then she sighed. "It's too late to talk about it and I'm too tired."

Eric got up and stepped up behind her, touching her shoulders lightly. "Come back to bed," he whispered. "You need to sleep."

She turned to look at him and her expression tore at his heart. There was such pain in her eyes that he felt a stab of fear, how could anyone hurt so much and still be breathing? He cupped the side of her face. "Come back upstairs," he urged gently. "I'll watch over you as you sleep." He was pleased when she didn't protest and he ushered her back to her room.

-

-

-

Clarissa's attitude changed overnight.

She withdrew again, distancing herself from the family. Not like before, when her fragile state had made them worry over her and kept her aloof and silent. Now she antagonised the people who cared for her, pushed them away again and again through displays of foul temper and a complete disregard for their feelings.

Mim struggled to maintain their therapeutic relationship, but Clarissa often vanished before session and could not be found. When she turned up again, she was callous with the slender man, her attitude belligerent and confrontational.

Evey argued with Clarissa over chores and responsibilities, but the girl was unrepentant and uncooperative. She refused to help with anything, often making more work for Evey despite the woman's fluctuating state of health.

Stephen held his temper when Clarissa responded to him with bitterness, her sullen replies too often offensive and disrespectful. He was tolerant, acknowledging Mim's reminders that Clarissa was asserting herself at last, challenging the boundaries of his authority, but his face took on a harder expression than usual, his eyes full of conflicting emotions when he watched Clarissa unaware that he was observed.

Eric wasn't treated to Clarissa's cruel attitudes. She permitted him physical closeness, sexual intimacy and even common courtesy but... She didn't share herself with him otherwise. They didn't talk about anything of importance. Eric's heart ached with loss every time he lay beside her in the dark and she was silent. He knew that she was awake but the silence lingered between them in the night. Eventually she would sleep and the dreams would come.

Clarissa no longer screamed in the night, waking the entire house. Eric wasn't certain that it was any improvement. Instead she wrestled against the phantasms that haunted her dreams, waking with heaving gasps for air. Shuddering and trembling, drenched in a cold sweat, she huddled in the darkness, wrapped in Eric's arms, silent in the face of his comfort. He hoped that she would break free of the dream, tell him what it meant to her, let him help her with the torment that ate into the sweet chocolate eyes and turned them muddy with grief.

Something had to change. Eric watched his lover turn more hollow with every passing night and he knew that something had to change soon, or Clarissa would be in dire straits indeed.

-

-

-

It was a few days later that the entire household went into town. Mim rode along with Stephen and Evey while Clarissa accompanied Eric in his car. She was quiet during the trip, her eyes roaming the landscape, as Eric negotiated the road. He stole a glance at her.

"You look very pretty," he told her. She glanced at him, darkly amused.

"Thank you," she replied flippantly. "It seemed an occasion for dressing up."

Eric nodded as she turned back to the scenery. Clarissa was dressed in a forest green blouse, the same one he'd seen her in the first time that they had met, and jeans so snug that they might have been painted on her. A pair of high topped boots encased her calves, added another three inches to her height and a fetching sway to her walk. Her brown hair was loose, spilling over her shoulders in soft waves. She was lovely, Eric realized, and his heart twisted at her youth even as he saw the turmoil in her eyes, the hardness that lurked inside her and that she refused to share with him.

"Do you want to buy more chocolate?" he asked, more to break the silence than to satisfy any real curiosity. Clarissa shook her head.

"Not today," she replied. "Perhaps I'll visit a few shops and buy myself a little fun."

He frowned. "What do you mean by fun?"

"Oh, anything." Her flippant tone irked him but Eric let it pass for the sake of peace. "A change of pace would be good, I feel like cutting free after being kept so far from proper civilization."

"I didn't know that you felt deprived, Clarissa."

She chuckled drily. "There are a lot of things about me that you don't know, aren't there?" The words were casually cutting, wounding him thoughtlessly. He clenched his teeth, the muscles of his jaw bunching tightly.

"At least I am still trying to find them out, Clarissa." His words were bitter and she ignored them as they pulled into a parking space next to Stephen's car. Clarissa was out of her seat before he cut the engine. She looked around as the afternoon breeze toyed with her hair.

"Shopping," she said when Mim asked. "I have some things I want to get while we're here." The chocolate eyes narrowed slyly. "I may not be able to find them here, but it's worth a look round."

Stephen eyed her warily. "Did you need something?" he asked. "Will you need money?"

Clarissa shook her head, her expression changing to something dark. "Nothing I would ask you for." She looked away as she said it, not seeing the hurt cross his face at her tone. Evey laid a hand on Stephen's arm but he stared at Clarissa silently, his eyes as brown as his niece's and just as unhappy. Mim stammered something to fill the sudden silence, his flustered voice shrill.

"Where do you intend to start, Princess?" She glared down at him for an instant, irritation plain on her face, then the expression vanished under a smile.

"Oh, I'll just follow along," she said lightly. "It won't be anything like shopping in London, I expect, but needs must when the devil drives."

They walked along the village sidewalk, strangers smiling and nodding to them as they passed. Eric tried to get closer to Clarissa but she wandered aimlessly among the members of the family, making it difficult for him to keep pace with her. Eventually he stopped pushing himself closer and focused instead on enjoying the afternoon.

When he noticed that the confectioner's had a sale, he turned to call Clarissa's attention to it and realized that she was gone. He frowned, glancing along the street but no flash of green caught his eye. He scanned the area. "Stephen!"

The former vigilante looked at him in surprise. "What is it, Eric?"

"Clarissa... She's gone."

Stephen's expression might have been comical if Eric hadn't been worried about Clarissa. He spun to look back at the way they'd come and searched the sidewalk for some sign of the girl. A few pedestrians wandered along the pavement, none of them Clarissa. "Mim, did you see her go?"

"No," the therapist replied sharply. "Perhaps she stepped into a shop?"

They backtracked a few blocks. Eric felt his heart sink. Clarissa was missing and he couldn't remember when he'd last seen her. He wondered if this had anything to do with her recent mood shifts, if she'd wandered off on her own or if someone had pulled her away from the group. His nerves shifted from alarm to dread as the search proved futile.

-

-

-

Hours later, Eric entered the pub with Stephen. Evey and Mim had been sent back to Gallowsmere, the therapist charged with seeing to Evey's care. She had grown pale over the course of the search and Stephen sent her home to rest while he kept searching for his missing niece. Eric squinted in the smoky interior, feeling a spike of discomfort at the scent of cigarettes burning. Stephen scanned the room, preoccupied with his own dark thoughts and unaware of the policeman's reaction to the room.

"When I find her," he growled, raking a hand through his tousled black hair. "I am going to throttle her."

"Get in line," Eric reminded him bitterly. Half the constabulary in the township was searching for Clarissa as well and he reached into his pocket for his mobile, reassuring himself that the handset was still in his pocket yet remained perversely silent. Stephen huffed a sharp snort of irritation.

"Hard to tell which of us is angrier," he remarked. "Let us look around a bit, Eric. This is the last place that we haven't looked..."

"In the pub?" Eric said, shaking his head. "Clarissa couldn't possibly have come here..."

A peal of laughter sounded from the rear of the room. The sound was familiar, light and sweet, and although neither of them had heard it recently, both men lifted their heads automatically, searching for the origin of the sound.

At the back of the room, a crowd stood watching a game of darts. Stephen and Eric shouldered through the crowd, stopping in shock as they saw Clarissa sipping from a pint of beer. She relished the drink, rosy faced and smiling up at the tough fellow standing beside her. Her brown hair was mussed and her eyes a little too bright. She laughed aloud as the man bent to kiss her, turning her face so that he caught her cheek and not her lips.

"C'mon, birdy," he cajoled, as he cupped her face. "Kiss for luck!"

"I need no kiss from you, Simon," she retorted, pulling away and making a face. "You reek of whiskey and you'll queer my aim with the fumes." The crowd chuckled at the insult and Simon's cheeks reddened.

"Fuckin' tease," he snarled. His hand closed upon Clarissa's arm, yanking her close. Stephen sucked in a sharp hiss of anger but Eric saw Clarissa's expression change as she neared her assailant. She spun from her captor's hand, her other arm lifting gracefully. He noticed the glint of silver in her hand an instant before Simon recoiled from her, the man's cry of pain shrill in the sudden quiet. Simon rocked away from her, hands going to his face.

"You Bitch!" he screamed, sinking to his knees.

The crowd was silent, staring wide-eyed at the scene. Eric could see the bright red seeping between Simon's fingers and he looked at Clarissa in shocked dismay. She stood still, her eyes on Simon, her expression distant until she looked at her hand and the darts that she held. To Eric's horror, the generous mouth curved into a cruel smile.

"Yes," she said almost dreamily. "Exactly." She focused on Simon again. "I told you to stop touching me, you sot. I warned you that there would be a penalty."

"Clarissa!"

Stephen's voice cut across the silence that hung in the air. Clarissa's head lifted at the rough exclamation of her name, the brown eyes hard and without any sign of the warm girl that Eric remembered. She shook her head. "What do you want?" she asked him insolently. "Can't I have any time alone?"

"We've been looking..." Stephen started to say but Clarissa's lips twisted into a mocking grimace.

"Oh, yes," she interrupted. "In store windows." She laughed coolly. "I got bored with shopping and decided to have a bit of fun."

Simon moaned from the floor. His fingers were coated in blood and the scent of it was suddenly stronger that the smell of burning tobacco. Eric's heart tightened painfully. Clarissa turned away from them, moving toward the throw line. "Let's finish the round," she announced, ignoring the man on the ground and ignoring Eric and Stephen as well. Her opponent shrank from her, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously above his buttoned up collar.

"But Simon..." he exclaimed hoarsely. Clarissa waved her free hand carelessly.

"Simon is drunk enough that he'll wait," she retorted. "The alcohol in his system will suppress his pain quite nicely for a few hours yet. He'll hurt a damn sight worse tomorrow when he's sober." She flicked the nervous man a mocking smile. "Throw or forfeit, Edgar."

Edgar swallowed visibly, his Adam's apple shifting anxiously up and down the column of his throat. He straightened shakily and took a stance to cast his darts toward the target. Clarissa watched him coolly as the darts left his hand and hit the board. Edgar's score was impressive and he turned to her with a triumphant look.

"You lose," he gloated.

"Nicely played." Clarissa studied the board with exaggerated concern. "But I still have a turn, don't I?"

"Go ahead," Edgar taunted her. "I've won. You can't beat me now."

She hesitated, turning her face toward him. The moment that her eyes met his, she smiled again, a cold deliberate smile. "Let's see about that," she remarked. Her hand flashed forward in three quick flicks and the darts flew toward the board, each making a sharp little thump as they struck and stuck in the cork. Edgar's eyes widened as his mouth opened in a silent cry of dismay.

Clarissa smirked, glancing at the board. Her darts jutted from the center of the colorful circle, clumped together neatly. "Oooh," she exclaimed. "Was that good? Did I score?"

A whisper passed through the crowd, soft at first but growing louder. Anger and bitter outrage filled the room. Edgar staggered slightly. "That's impossible!" he whispered. Clarissa shook her head.

"You saw it," she pointed out. "Clearly not impossible, as I have just proven. Pay up."

Stephen stepped forward as she extended her hand, palm open. His face was hard as stone as he stared at the girl. A figure collided with him roughly, the stocky shape shouldering past him without pause. The older man ignored the rudeness, intent upon his niece, but Eric caught a glimpse of a wild mop of black hair as the figure headed for the door. He noted the stranger distantly, torn between shock and disbelief as he tried to understand what he'd seen, what Clarissa had just done, and the terrible change in her that was so starkly revealed in her actions. Then Stephen was moving toward Clarissa again, undeterred by the crowd.

Edgar faced the girl, his pale face and wide eyes displaying his stunned disbelief. "No one could have thrown darts like that," he protested. Clarissa sighed.

"Pay up," she repeated. "The wager was all or nothing. I won. Give me all the money, Edgar, because you won nothing." She didn't react when Stephen stopped beside her, ignoring his presence. "I have other things to do, so cough it up or let your mates know that you don't honor your debts." She sneered at him, the expression twisting her features unpleasantly. "Come, come," she chided when he hesitated, looking up at Stephen helplessly. "Don't be dull, Edgar. The game is over and it's time to pay the shepherd for fleecing you."

Stephen's hand fell heavily upon her shoulder. Clarissa stiffened under the contact for a moment before her eyes cut to her uncle. Silently she stared up at him, her eyes hard as diamonds. "Time to go home, Clarissa," he said darkly.

"I'll do as I like," she advised him archly. "Do you think that you can order me about, Stephen? Release me."

He refused. "Come, Clarissa." His tone brooked no argument. She knocked his arm aside, freeing herself only to collide into Eric's chest. The policeman seized her at once, forcing her to walk before him as he steered her out the pub. Clarissa didn't fight him but she wasn't willing either. Eric compelled her out the door and into the late afternoon light. Clarissa rounded on him once they were outside.

"You shouldn't interfere," she snapped at him. Eric scowled at her.

"You injured that man," he said sharply. "And you've had us all worried about you, Clarissa. What has happened to you?" He leaned toward her, searching her face for some sign of the woman he loved. "You've changed, my girl, and it isn't an improvement. What has gotten into you?"

For a moment, her eyes softened and her lips parted. There was a flash, just the merest flash of pain in her eyes and Eric's fear weakened at the sight. He felt her hesitation and knew that she would break for him, that she would tell him what terrible things were devouring her from the inside out. He reached out and caught her by the shoulders, pulling her closer.

"I'm still here, my girl," he whispered. "Trust me, bhean, as I have trusted you..."

Her eyes glistened with sudden tears, the long dark lashes spiking as the moisture spilled over the lids and onto her white cheeks. Her mouth looked bruised to him, grieving as it trembled on the verge of confession...

A motorcycle roared to life a few yards away and Clarissa startled, wrenching herself out of his grasp. Eric couldn't hold her. As she stepped away, the vulnerability vanished as though it had never existed. She straightened and tossed back her hair, arrogant and hard with bitterness. "Perhaps," she said over the sound of the loud engine. "Perhaps it isn't what's gotten in so much as what is getting out." She blinked away her tears. "There's only so much room inside me, Eric. Perhaps you shouldn't expect so much as I'm bound to disappoint you."

The motorcycle rumbled past them, escalating dangerously fast on the cobbled road, dangerously close. Clarissa didn't look at it, staring at Eric instead as Stephen joined them. Her uncle was haggard, his face drawn with anger and pain. "Let's go home," he said sharply. "We'll discuss this fiasco at Gallowsmere." He pointed toward the car and Clarissa grudgingly obeyed his stern command to walk.

Eric fell in beside Stephen, confused by the girl's changing attitudes and her contradictory behaviour. He watched her walk before them, the body that he knew so intimately housing a complete stranger who baffled any attempt to reach her heart. Eric wondered how long this phase was going to last or if the girl was changing into someone he would never reconnect with.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Notes: For all you crazy kids in love with the VEV stuff, there's some in here. We've been very bad about focus, thanks for drawing it to our attention. You will notice that time is moving a tad quicker. We're picking up the pace a tad. Hope some of you are surprised.---edit completed 11/01/07, edited for errors, continuity and story content. ES

Disclaimers: I do not own or possess the rights to play with these characters or their world. But the people who do own them kinda cheated all us fans with a tragic ending. We may be angst freaks, but unhappy endings SUCK!! So until they make us happy with some sort of wondrous miracle and a new movie with a resurrected V and the inevitable happy ending, we stand with the other V4V fanfic writers and pilfer their characters as V would have pilfered butter from the Chancellor's supplies. Heh, so there!!!!!!!

**Outings and Outings**

A fortnight since the afternoon that Clarissa disappeared in town and Eric was still trying to endure his lover's changeable moods, afraid that he would never understand them.

It was difficult, Eric thought as he dressed one morning. He was still completely in love with her, despite the sharp comments and attitude that the entire household put up with. Clarissa still shared her bed with him, often the only time that she permitted him any of the closeness that he wanted. She burrowed against him in the dark, made love to him with her body but her voice was stilled. Since the trip into town, she exercised more, spent more time in the woods or the playroom. Her body was tighter, harder from the constant effort, but she seemed to find no ease in the work. She was snappish and temperamental, her sharp comments carving hurt from her family.

He was still concerned about the nightmares. They were still happening, coming every night now and sometimes more than once. She woke up, still silent and shuddering, and Eric held her until the tremors stopped. He could see the shadows creeping back into her eyes every evening as they neared bedtime and he ached for her but couldn't do anything about it.

He went downstairs, his step heavier on the stair than usual. Evey met him at the kitchen door. "Eric," she said curiously. "Is Clarissa still in bed?" Eric shook his head.

"She went for a run at dawn," he said. Behind Evey, Stephen got to his feet immediately. The man's expression was grave. "Is something wrong?"

"Did she say where she was running?"

"The woods, I expect." Eric frowned, anxiety filling him. "Stephen, what's wrong?"

"I noticed signs of vagrants in the wood yesterday." Stephen moved toward him. "I hadn't warned her yet."

"The playroom?"

"Not there, I checked it." Stephen headed for the back door. "I'm going to find her." He tucked a long knife up his sleeve as he passed Eric.

Just then the back door opened and Clarissa paused on the step, breathless, her face flushed. She took in her uncle and her lover standing in the small hallway and offered a shallow smile to them both.

"Good morning," she said lightly. "What's going on?"

"Were you in the woods this morning?" Stephen asked sharply. Clarissa hesitated.

"I was." She frowned. "What's wrong?"

"You didn't see anyone?"

Clarissa shook her head. "Why would there be anyone in the woods?" she asked. "No one comes onto Gallowsmere land without you knowing it." She smirked, gesturing toward the monitor on the counter. "You have sensors everywhere, don't you?"

"There are safety measures in place for a reason, Clarissa," Stephen reminded her.

"Ah, yes," she sniped. "For forfending Fingermen, fortify the family in electronic amber, trapped like bugs forever in frozen foundless fright." The alliteration dropped lightly from her lips, mocking Stephen's own facility with the language. "Is there anything to eat this morning or is Evey still too sick to be useful?"

"I rather think that you can fend for your self," Stephen observed.

"With pleasure," Clarissa breezed past him into the kitchen. She was dressed in her sweats, the color inky black, a foil that called attention to her fair skin. Her hair was carelessly piled on the top of her head but there were leaves and twigs in it.

"Clarissa…" Stephen's voice was warning. She threw him a glance.

"What now?"

"Your hair is mussed; there is detritus in it." He held her gaze. "I haven't seen it like that since our last little war."

She snorted. "I fell, Uncle Stephen," she said, exaggerating the title sharply. "I took a tumble in the leaves near the big oak. They were still wet with dew and I slipped." She shrugged. "It was clumsy, thank you for asking, and I skinned my knee to boot. D'you need to see that as well?"

Her posture was defensive, angry, as she glared up at her uncle. Eric could feel the anger simmering under her words, see the brown eyes gone flat with fury. Stephen's temper flared to match hers and he tilted his head to look down at her.

"I think I have had quite enough of your attitude, Clarissa."

"Obviously not or you'd leave me alone." The girl's hands curled into fists at her sides. "I am tired of putting up with your constant interference in my life, Stephen. I certainly don't need a surrogate father and you haven't any right to question me about what I do."

"You live in my house," he reminded her. "You still have to obey the rules..."

"Make me." The challenge was issued without hesitation. Stephen tensed and Clarissa mirrored him, ready for physical violence. Eric's stomach knotted at the sight of them, knowing from long experience in his line of work that there was about to be a full on confrontation.

Evey interrupted. "Clarissa, stop it!" She laid a hand on Eric's shoulder, leaning on him slightly. "Whatever you think in that mixed up head of yours, Stephen was worried about you and so was Eric. There were signs of intruders that Stephen hadn't warned you of yet and he was worried to think you might run into someone unpleasant." She looked at her lover, reprovingly. "Stephen, you sound like a tyrant."

Clarissa laughed, leaning back against the counter as though nothing had happened a moment before. "Not by half, Evey. In Atherton's house, I would have been laid out the moment I crossed the threshold." She studied her uncle lazily. "Stephen hasn't actually hit me or had me raped so I would have to say that Stephen doesn't come off that bad."

She filled a glass with water and drank from it. She glanced at the clock. "Is it that late?" She put down the glass. "Are we still going into town?"

"If you think you still deserve a trip to town," Stephen said. He was still staring at her, his eyes dark with concern. Clarissa pulled a face.

"Oh, stop it, Stephen," she said irritably. "I don't answer to you about my behavior. Stop acting so bloody high handed. I don't need the protection and if I wanted to discuss my actions with anyone, it falls to Mim, doesn't it?" She went to move past Stephen and he caught her arm.

"You aren't talking to him either," he pointed out. "Now, see here…" She twisted free of his grasp, shoving him away.

"Don't touch me," she hissed, her voice turning ugly. "I decide who touches me and when and why." She glared at him. "You don't get to touch me, Stephen, not without taking damage."

Evey gasped. "Clarissa!"

The girl didn't take her eyes off Stephen. "I don't need this shit," she said bitterly. "Go on, go to town and have a nice time of it. I am perfectly capable of entertaining myself." She spun around and left. Mim appeared a moment later, his sad eyes showing that he had overheard the exchange.

"What the hell is her problem?" Stephen demanded. Mim shook his head.

"She's turning into a person, Stephen. Just as all children become adolescents, so has Clarissa. Years late, but normal." He reminded Stephen of the warning he'd given before. Clarissa would challenge Stephen more than anyone else in the house. Stephen frowned.

"Why me?"

"You're the authoritarian, Stephen. Evey is the mother, Eric is the significant other and I am the therapist. She challenges me in small ways like skipping sessions. She challenges Evey by not doing chores." Mim gestured to Eric. "I've no idea about your relationship, Inspector. She refuses to discuss it."

Eric considered the implied question. If Clarissa wasn't willing to talk about their relationship, then he shouldn't betray her confidence. He excused himself and headed upstairs again. He rapped on Clarissa's door. There was no answer. He turned the knob and pushed in, hearing the shower running. Clarissa's sweats were piled in the hamper. He stepped inside and shut the door. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, he waited for her to come back out.

When she did, her wary eyes took in his presence and she paused. Eric studied her carefully. "Do you want to discuss it?" he asked, lifting a hand to her in offer. She almost came to him but she turned away instead.

"No." The word was final. Eric's hand dropped to the bed and he frowned at her back.

"Have I made you angry, Clarissa?' he asked. She was rummaging for clothes, her movements sharp and angry.

"Not you," she snapped. She tossed undergarments onto the bed then went to the closet. She set out a pair of fitted slacks and crimson blouse. The silence lingered as he watched her dress. She moved with a feline grace that always left him breathless; even as she put on her clothes, he was imagining taking them off of her again. She felt his regard and turned, eyes haunted. "Stop it, Eric."

She dismissed him then, brushing out her hair and pinning it up with practiced ease.

"Clarissa," he said carefully, hearing the tone in her voice and recognizing that she was angry. "What's wrong, love? Tell me and we'll try to fix it."

She stepped into the pair of knee-high black boots, the polished leather glossed almost to a reflective shine. She studied the shining footwear thoughtfully. "Some things just are," she said softly. "And they cannot be fixed or changed."

"I don't believe that," he said. "There's always a solution."

"Yes," she said. "Whether we like it or not." She turned to look at him again, hesitating as though she would speak. He waited, willing her to trust him. She came to stand before him, looking into his eyes silently for a long moment. "You do know that I love you?" she asked, frowning. "You do know that I love you, don't you?"

"I never doubted it." He smiled up at her, capturing her waist with his hands. "I know you do." She sighed, her breath hitching in her throat. She bent to touch his mouth with hers, the kiss lingering and somehow sad. "I love you, my girl. I'm just worried about you."

"Me?" she laughed, the humor false. "There are other people for you to worry about." She plucked a jacket from the closet, a fitted black jacket that matched her slacks. "I need to see Mim before you go," she said lightly. "Will you see if he's up for a quick chat?"

"As you like," he said. She was finishing her toilette when he stepped out onto the landing.

The whole exchange felt wrong to him somehow, but he didn't want to upset her by forcing her to discuss it. Trotting downstairs, he found Mim still with Stephen and Evey. "Mim," he said, getting the slender man's attention. "Clarissa wants to see you before we go, if you don't mind." Mim frowned.

"Certainly," he said. Getting to his feet, the therapist started for the door. Clarissa appeared behind Eric, her face a perfectly controlled mask.

"Mim," she said coolly. "If you've a moment?"

"Certainly, Princess." He eyed her clothes, startled by her appearance. She looked quite different, a brittle beauty that was designed to discourage touch. She preceded him out the door, stepping out into the garden. Stephen watched from the window, brows furrowed.

"What the hell's gotten into her?" he muttered.

"Perhaps she's just realizing that she's free?" Evey suggested. "She's been so repressed for so long and now she doesn't have be. Maybe she's finally finding herself?"

An anguished cry pierced the air.

Eric turned at once to go outside as Stephen crowded behind him.

They found Mim and Clarissa standing near the cars, Clarissa was silent and Mim stared up at her. He had an expression on his face that spoke of something terrible, a dull horror in his pale blue eyes. "What is it?" Stephen shouted as he looked for some threat, a cause for Mim's reaction. The girl sighed in exaggerated disgust.

"Mim's overwrought," she said smoothly. She looked down, held the slender man's gaze, her own features perfectly composed. "Aren't you, Mim?"

"Yes," the therapist said slowly. "Over-wrought." He blinked rapidly, straightening. "I was just telling Clarissa that I need to stay home today. I shouldn't go into town, I think."

"What was that shout?"

Clarissa lifted her brows in surprise. "What shout, Stephen?" She shook her head. "Mim's having a bad day, aren't you?"

"Y..yes." The gentle man drew himself up to his full height. "I think I will have a bit of a lie-down, if you don't mind." He walked slowly up to the house and disappeared inside. Stephen eyed his niece suspiciously.

"What really happened, Clarissa?" She shook her head at him.

"You're bloody paranoid today," she observed. She dusted a speck of lint from her sleeve, before straightening the cuff of the jacket. "Perhaps you should start talking to Mim. Twenty years of nearly total solitude are bound to affect you badly." She clasped her hands behind her back, the slim body almost military in crimson and black. "For the moment, however, your lover expects a trip to the village. You aren't going to keep her waiting while you pursue these idiotic fantasies, are you?"

Stephen stepped toward her. "What the devil has gotten into you today?" he asked, trying to keep his voice reasonable. She didn't move, her eyes cool as she met his gaze. "Why are you trying to hurt me, Clarissa? Have I upset you somehow?"

Her expression hardened. "Really, Stephen," she said, quite calmly. "Perhaps hurting you is not the goal of the exercise but instead an unexpected bonus?"

Stephen sucked in a gasp at the words, wounded by her cruelty. He couldn't find anything to say, the hurt went right through his heart. Clarissa watched him for a moment then she shook her head.

"It really doesn't matter, does it?" She made a tch-ing sound. "Stay or go, it's all the same to me." She went to move around him but Stephen caught her arm. She paused, eyes lifting to his face, the brown depths almost black. "Unhand me."

He looked stricken at the venom in her voice. "Clarissa…" She waited, her body tensing. Stephen released her finally and she shook her head at him.

"You really need to get out more," she said pointedly. "Evey needs the break from the house and you need to rethink this whole 'I can tell you what to do' mentality."

She sauntered up to the house and vanished inside. Eric and Stephen stood together, watching her go. Stephen was staggered, turning confused brown eyes toward his friend.

"Eric, what have I done?" he asked in shock. "She didn't act like that before…"

"She did," Eric countered slowly. "When she faced Atherton, she was like that, calculating and cold."

Stephen's face paled at the implication and Eric felt a rush of sympathy for the younger man. He hadn't thought about Stephen's reaction to being compared to Atherton Avery and he regretted saying anything. Clarissa's nasty attitude was beyond the pale today.

He was confused by her behaviour; it was nothing like the warm woman who had agreed to share her bed with him. "Why don't you take Evey into town, Stephen? I'll see if I can't get to bottom of this." He laid a hand on Stephen's shoulder. "Go. Forget this; it's probably just a bad day. You haven't done anything wrong."

-

-

-

Stephen and Evey went into the village alone and Eric waited for Clarissa to reappear. She came into the kitchen, seeming unsurprised to see him. She started a kettle silently while he watched her. Setting it on to boil, she tossed him a look over her shoulder. "Do you want a cup?" she asked casually.

"Clarissa, we need to talk." He traced a random pattern on the tablecloth with his forefinger. She set up two cups, preparing to brew the tea. "What was going on between you and Stephen? You tore him to pieces, Clarissa, and you didn't bat an eye doing it. That's not like you, my girl. I've seen you in a hundred moods but I haven't seen this particular face on you since…" He hesitated to say the name. She nodded, her back to him, shoulders stiff.

"Since Atherton?" She started the tea and came to the table. Eric looked up at her with concern.

"Yes, it felt rather like that again," she mused. "As though Stephen and I were adversaries again."

"Clarissa, your moods are getting darker; you're not happy. You take some sort of pleasure in hurting your uncle more than the rest of the household but still all of us are on the hit list. What is going on with you?" As he spoke, Eric watched her face for some clue to her mood. Clarissa was thoughtful, not hostile, as she made the tea. "You won't tell me what is going inside your head and I am out of my depth. You won't talk to Mim, you push Evey and Stephen away... You are isolated and angry but you won't reach out to any of us, not even me. I want to help you, I want to understand..." He sighed. "Can't you tell me what is happening to you?"

She poured the cups and brought them to the table, sitting down as she handed him one. "I think it has to do with priorities," she said slowly, picking up her cup. "Did I make your tea correctly?"

Eric picked up his cup and sipped it. "It's fine," he said absently. "What do you mean priorities, Clarissa?"

She shook her head. "Not now, Eric," she said. "Let's have tea, shall we? There will be time to talk later."

-

-

-

Stephen and Evey spent an awkward lunch, the former being distracted and the latter trying to wean his thoughts back to their outing. When they went to their hotel after, they undressed and lay down together. Evey rolled against Stephen's side, his arm around her.

"Stephen," she said, running one hand over his belly. "I think we ought to name the baby Randy."

"Do you?" he asked, his voice thoughtful. She punched him lightly.

"No," she exclaimed. "What an awful name! As though he'll forever be seeking someone to shag." He twitched, turning his head to look at her.

"What?" He frowned. "Oh." He shook his head. "Sorry, Evey."

"Let it go, Stephen. We'll go home this evening and everything will be back to normal. You're here with me, remember?" She lifted her head to meet his eyes. "This is our time, Stephen. Clarissa can wait until this evening."

Stephen put his niece's strange behaviour out of his mind and kissed Evey. Her mouth was as warm and sweet as always, her hands on his skin were as insistent as ever. He worshiped her body with his lips, trailing kisses over her bare body, finding the places that made her gasp and flinch. She pushed him onto his back and straddled him. At the moment they were joined, he writhed under her at the sensation of her heated sheath surrounding him. She smirked at him, setting the rhythm. He groaned at the pace she set.

"Evey!"

"First time fast," she reminded him. "Second time slow." Her voice was already breathless. Stephen looked up at her, loving the light in her eyes, loving the fact that she was his. Nothing else mattered at this moment.

-

-

-

Half an hour later

Eric set down his empty cup, feeling a strange buzzing in his head. Clarissa was sitting across from him, her head bowed. When his cup rattled in the saucer, she looked up, eyes dark as night.

"How do you feel?" she asked. Her voice sounded strange. Eric frowned.

"I feel odd…"

"I expect you do," she said gravely. "I had to improvise, you know. You should have gone to town with Stephen and Evey. If you had, this would have been far simpler."

"What do...you mean?" His tongue was thick, stumbling over his words.

Clarissa sipped her own tea, making a face at the taste. "Mine's gone cold." She picked up his cup and her own as she rose to cross the room before putting them in the sink. She looked out the window then glanced at her watch. "You've been given a fairly innocuous sleeping draught, Eric. It's well in you now and soon you'll drift to sleep."

The comment seemed nonsensical. Eric puzzled over it and the meaning suddenly became clear. He felt a rush of panic which increased the buzzing in his head.

"W…Why?" God, his mouth felt full of cotton. She lifted a hand to someone outside, beckoning them to come. Eric clutched at the table's edge, his world spinning.

"I have an errand to run," she said quietly. "I can't afford to risk anyone else. It's my problem to handle and I will..." The back door banged open, interrupting her, and a tall black haired man entered.

Eric stared at him, seeing Stephen's eyes looking at him, set in a younger face. The man was powerfully built, his shoulders broader than Stephen's, his arms as thick as a weight lifter's. The green eyes took in Eric expressionlessly, and then turned to Clarissa. She moved toward him, smiling.

"Hullo, love. Right on time."

"You've drugged him?" the newcomer asked. His voice was very like Stephen's, rougher and slightly hoarse. Clarissa nodded.

"As we discussed," she said. "You will have to take him upstairs for me, Caine. I can't manage it."

Eric blinked, trying to clear his body of the drug. "Caine…" he managed.

"He's not under yet," Caine said slowly. "Are you sure the drug will put him out?"

Clarissa nodded. "I was careful with the measurements," she told him. "And Mim will watch him for us."

The muscular man snorted. "Do you think the the little queer..." Clarissa lifted a hand in warning.

"Remember who he is," she warned. "Don't speak of him like that, Caine."

"Sorry, Clair." The big man didn't sound apologetic but Clarissa smiled at him. "Are you certain that he can handle the job?"

"Definitely. I had hoped to take him along for support but plans change." She reached out and touched Eric's shoulder. "Can you manage him?"

Caine snorted. "He's not that big." he picked Eric up, carrying him like a drowsy child to the bedroom upstairs. Clarissa followed him, one hand on the man's back. Eric tried to stay awake, to focus on what was happening. Caine set him on the bed and stepped back. "How long do we have?" he asked Clarissa. She checked her watch again.

"Not nearly long enough." She glanced at Caine. "How long to the facility?"

"About three hours."

"That's six there and back again, plus whatever time we need to get him from holding." She checked her watch again. "Stephen and Evey stay in town for hours, usually until dark. We're cutting it close."

Caine shrugged. "I don't know them, I don't trust them. It's your call, Clair. You're the smart one." He stood behind her, half a head taller than she was, his eyes taking in Eric's prone body. "Get what you need done finished. I'll go down and wait for you." He turned slowly and walked out the door.

She bent over Eric. "Eric, can you still hear me?" He blinked up at her and her cold mask melted away. "Oh, I'm sorry, Eric, but I didn't see any other way around this. If it matters to you, and it probably won't after today, I can't ask someone to do what I myself wouldn't do." She touched his face lightly, fingertips brushing over his skin. "If all goes well, you can tell me how much you hate me later. If it isn't, then I won't be back." Clarissa leaned closer until her face filled his field of vision. "I can't risk Stephen, and I won't risk you, Eric." She pulled away and craned her head toward the door.

"Mim!" she shouted. The slender man appeared beside her silently. "I gave him the dose, Mim. Watch over him and I'll relieve you if he's not up and about, when we get back." She reached out and touched the man's shoulders. "I will get him back here. After that, the brunt falls on you. If you think I'm a bag of tricks, he's bound to be worse off. You are prepared for it?"

"Yes, Clarissa," Mim said prayerfully. "I'll do anything."

"Keep the perimeter alert off. Leave it alone and it'll be fine. If my uncle reaches home before we return, just tell him that Eric and I are in bed, making things up." Clarissa rubbed her forehead anxiously. "For God's sake, Mim, don't lie more than you have to. You aren't good at it." She straightened. "How do I look?"

"Like a straight-up Fingerman bitch," Mim whispered. "This is really going to set back your therapy, Clarissa." She laughed nervously.

"Do you think so?" She looked at Eric one last time. "I hope Stephen doesn't fire you, Mim, we're going to need you a lot in the next phase."

"I offer group rates, Princess, but, no worries. For you, pro bono."


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Notes: This may prove to be fun after all. We're trying something new. We know you want more answers and we'll try to get them to you at a decent rate, but the ride needs to progress at proper speed. We are running at ramming rate this time about.----edited 11/01/07 corrections, continuity, seamlessness...ES

Thank you, as always, for the reviews. Love them. Love to hear your opinions. Love to see if the red herrings work. Lol

Disclaimers: I do not own V or the characters introduced therein. I make no money from this venture. It's all in fun and no one is seriously or permanently damaged in the world I write in.

**The Ride of the Valkyries**

Stephen stirred next to Evey, his body aching pleasantly from their activities. She slept, tired out from the long slow lovemaking he'd treated her to, and he studied her, marveling at how utterly beautiful she was.

Evey's hair had grown longer since their reunion, the soft curls framing a face that was angelic in repose. Her belly was growing larger to accommodate their child and he reached down to stroke the rounded flesh. As his palm rested upon the mound, a flutter seemed to reach for his hand. He smiled, caught by surprise, and his heart swelled with love. This woman was his other half, given to him by the fates, a gift he was prepared to treasure for the rest of their lives together.

_I'm Evey._

_Of course you are._

He closed his eyes at the memory of that first meeting.

Her fear hadn't stopped her from seeing him as a man, albeit a madman and she'd looked so fragile and sweet that he couldn't turn away from her. To have her repay his protection by macing a policeman had placed him in a bind. To protect her from her rash act, he had taken her home with him and imprisoned her in the Shadow Gallery. During their months of close confinement, he'd fallen hard for her, even to the point of trusting her to assist him with one of his vengeance trips. The results had been disastrous but she'd come to understand that his mistreatment of her was to make her free of the chains imposed upon her by the fascist state, to permit her to live in freedom in the end. He still had nightmares about the cell and torturing her, knowing that his darkest instincts had had full rein during that time. He hated the part of him that had been a Fingerman, the part of him that had taught her what it meant to be held in a Fingerman's sadistic control and had gloried in the power of life and death over her.

He eased away from Evey and got out of bed.

He was still troubled by Clarissa's actions earlier. Something about how she'd acted, how she'd looked, puzzled him.Familiar was the word that came to mind. The crimson and black, Fingermen colors…Fingerman boots. She'd dressed like a Fingerman, her cold and distant demeanor had been like her old self. How had he not noticed it? The scathing tone of voice that delivered her barbs with cutting clarity rang in his head. What was he missing? What else had he been too preoccupied to notice?

She'd been running in the woods more often recently. Pushing herself harder than before. Almost his old training regimen before a strike... Stephen felt the hair on his arms rise and he concentrated, knowing to trust his instincts. Aberrations. Things that stood out in his thoughts with sudden clarity. The intruders. The leaves and twigs in her hair. Her distancing cruelty, her strange behaviour.

Stephen considered each factor carefully. He'd missed something. He'd been complacent and something had happened to make Clarissa change, a complete 180 in personality. He'd missed it. Ice trickled down his spine. Something wasn't right.

In fact, something was very wrong, he'd make book on it.

"Evey," he whispered. "Evey, wake up, darling, we need to go home."

She opened her eyes, blinking up at him. "Is it time already?" she murmured. "Not yet."

"Yes, my dearest Eve. We need to get home at once." He started pulling on his trousers, telling her quietly what he was thinking. Evey listened and then got up to pull on her own clothes.

-

-

-

Eric lay on Clarissa's bed, his body taut with the effort to rise. He couldn't make himself get up, no matter how much effort he put into it. The drug held him as bound as if he'd been trussed with rope. He kept fading in and out but he tried to cling to awareness. He had no idea how long he'd been upstairs. He couldn't see a clock.

The man who'd carried him upstairs…A very muscular version of Stephen, younger perhaps Clarissa's age, the same intense green eyes as Stephen, he'd managed carrying Eric to the bed as though the policeman weighed next to nothing. He'd called Clarissa 'Clair' and she'd called him… 'Caine'. Eric tried to remember where he'd heard the name before. Caine, Caine, Caine….The vanished five, V's progeny. V's stolen children. One was Caine. Clarissa had spoken of him the day they'd first made love; he was one of the triplets. Bram was the other, the one she had nightmares about.

Clarissa had said they were both dead but Caine was by no means a ghost, Eric would attest to that in a court of law. Clarissa had acted so out of character, verbally slaughtering Stephen and then drugging himself. He wondered what she planned to do. Something about not asking someone to do something she wouldn't do herself…

_I can't risk Stephen and I won't risk you._

She'd mentioned a facility. Three hours away. How long had she been gone?

-

-

-

Clarissa straddled the motorcycle, her gloved hands keeping the motor at full bore. Her helmet was outfitted with a microphone unit and she triggered it. "Caine."

The rider on the other bike spared her a sideways glance. He wore black, the sleeves cut out of the leather to bare his powerful arms. "Clair?"

"How much farther?" she asked. The silence was making her edgy. Caine chuckled.

"About twenty minutes, love." He paced her carefully. "They've had him in reassignment since about nine months ago. Since Atherton hasn't issued any further commands, he's been cooling his heels."

"It's common knowledge that I have acted as Atherton's go-between on numerous occasions. I should know the proper call signs to have him released to us. There is a slim chance that someone will know that I have been out of circulation. Do we have a contingency plan?"

"I have both of these wired with bombs and a timer.We'll commandeer one of their autos and ditch the bikes. Once we're clear, I'll detonate them both and that should buy us time to cover our tracks."

Clarissa shivered. "I'm riding a bomb?" she asked incredulously.

"Fraid so, baby girl. Try not to lay down the bike in a patch of grit or an oil slick."

Clarissa laughed nervously. "Damnit, Caine, you're scary. Thanks for the heads up."

"I was afraid you'd lost your nerve, Clair." The childhood nickname was so familiar that she relaxed a little at the sound of it. "You did well with the policeman, and you definitely got Stephen out of the house. I'd heard you were tough, I hadn't expected you to be so…harsh."

Clarissa fought to keep the guilt from rising. "Atherton taught me well, Caine. I was told you died years ago, told the same about Bram. I dreamed of you both, but I never guessed that you were still alive."

"Atherton assigned me to work in the Doneghan facility, cut off from everyone. You couldn't call out without clearance and you sure as hell couldn't send any communiqués to the world. After V blew Parliament, there was a general uprising and the facility took major damage. I was lucky to slip away in the madness. I've looked for you both since although it took me a long time to track you to Gallowsmere. I'd already found Bram but needed another to make the transfer work. You were always the smart one. I figured you could fast talk the higher ups and make the plan work." Caine's voice was flat, very little emotion revealed in his words. "When I mentioned subversive behaviour, you latched onto the little queer as having something to do with it all."

Clarissa nodded, thinking about Mim. The fact that Mim was obsessed with Bram had made her think something was off. Bram was the beauty of the triplets, his face and body had developed true beauty early. Clarissa had known he preferred the companionship of men to women. It mattered little to her; he was her brother after all. She'd confronted Mim nearly a week ago about Bram and the gentle therapist had broken down in tears. He'd sought the position as Clarissa's therapist to learn Bram's fate then tried to help her as a way to pay tribute to his lover. "Don't call him that, Caine," she scolded. "Mim will be the one thing that can help with Bram. He's bound to have taken damage, just as you have."

Caine snorted. "I don't care," he retorted. "I just want my family back. I have you, we'll get Bram and everyone else can fuck off." He studied the road. "We should maintain silence after the next marker. No telling what they can hear up there."

-

-

-

Stephen and Evey came home, the house strangely silent. Stephen frowned as they entered the house. He looked around. "I'm going upstairs to check on Clarissa and Eric," he said. He took the stairs two at a time and came to Clarissa's door. As he lifted his hand to knock, the door to Mim's room opened, the shorter man stepping out into the hall. He flushed red at the sight of Stephen.

"You're back early," he said breathlessly.

"I wanted to see Clarissa," Stephen answered, thinking something wasn't right. Mim acted strangely. "Is she in?"

"The inspector was taking a nap," Mim said slowly. "Perhaps the Princess is in the playroom?"

"It's too late in the day." Stephen frowned. "But you know that, don't you?" He turned the doorknob and pushed open the door. Eric was lying on the bed, his eyes open. He didn't move as Stephen entered the room. "Eric?"

The man blinked but did not move. Stephen bent over him, concern in his eyes and voice. "Eric?" Eric looked up at him, pleading silently with his eyes. "Eric, what has she done to you?" He looked over his shoulder at Mim who hovered in the doorway. "Mim, what the hell is going on?"

Mim wrung his hands. "I didn't want her to do it," he said softly. "But the Inspector was supposed to go into town with you. When he didn't, she had to change her plans at the last moment."

"What do you mean, change her plans?" Stephen demanded. "I want to know what she did to Eric and where the hell she is now!"

Mim swallowed. "She gave him something to make him sleep, a mild narcotic. It won't last much longer. She went with her brother to a Fingerman place; they intend to liberate their other brother."

"Her brothers are dead, you said." Stephen shook his head. "They died years ago."

"It was a lie. Caine found Clarissa here and they cooked a plot to get their other brother, Bram, from a holding facility. I told her to tell you but she was adamantly against it. She said you had to worry about the baby and Evey, that she wasn't going to risk you or the Inspector on something she felt they could handle alone." Mim lifted wide eyes to Stephen. "They've been gone hours already."

Eric tried to speak. "Stephen…" The taller man leaned over him. "Three hours…"

"They've been gone three hours?"

Mim shook his head. "They've been gone only two. It was to take them three hours to reach the center." He gestured. "I am supposed to be ready for them by eight. If they succeeded, they were coming back for me."

"They want you for what?"

"Bram was my lover before he got bagged." Mim lifted his head, the timidity vanishing suddenly. "It was fault he got bagged. He was able to warn me that the Fingermen were coming but he was caught in my house and they took him away." He shrugged. "I can help him if he's been traumatized, I know I can."

Stephen lifted Eric into a sitting position. "Come on, Eric," he said. "Let's get some coffee into you and try to get you mobile." Eric's body was unresponsive and Stephen ended up carrying his friend downstairs.

-

-

-

Clarissa dismounted her motorcycle and dropped her gloves into the helmet. She stood tall in her knee high black leather boots, her posture ramrod straight. Caine pulled of his helmet as well, brushing his long black hair out of his face. A man approached, armed with an automatic rifle. Clarissa stared at him icily.

"Where is the shepherd of this fold?" she demanded. "I have urgent business to attend to."

"And just who the fuck are you?" the man snarled. Clarissa looked him over dismissively.

"Someone who knows you're a moron," she snapped. "I've not come all this way on Atherton's behalf to have some imbecile question my authority. I am Clarissa Avery, the granddaughter of Atherton Avery." She stepped forward threateningly. "Where is your fucking shepherd? I am not spending one minute longer out of London than is strictly necessary."

A Fingerman in proper dress came out of a small building nearby. "Ms. Avery, welcome to Millbright. I am Martin Jameson." He extended his hand in welcome, smiling at her. She eyed his hand pointedly, not bothering to take it. "What may I do for you?"

"My grandfather feels that his grandson has imposed upon your hospitality long enough. I have been dispatched to bring my brother back into the shepherd's home." Clarissa folded her arms across her chest. "I understand he has been in preparation for transit for quite some time. This is the first that we could spare a moment to fetch him."

The man smiled at her. "My dear Ms. Avery, as you've come all this way, perhaps you would like a tour of these facilities? You can take a report to your grandfather about how well we're doing despite the recent governmental developments."

Clarissa smiled coolly. "I can appreciate your difficulties, Mr. Jameson, and I can see that this facility is operating above par for the current regime. I truly do not wish to spend more time on the road than is necessary. If I leave within the half hour, I will make it home again before too late this evening. If you can accommodate me, I will tell my grandfather that you are exhibiting true Fingerman ingenuity and should be reassigned to London. Now that Palmer is dead, a new shepherd is needed there." Clarissa's eyes narrowed. "You understand my meaning, I believe?"

Jameson nodded, his eyes glinting with avarice. "Well, Ms. Avery, I am quite certain I can provide you anything you can require. I relish the opportunity to demonstrate exactly how satisfactory my assistance can be." He took Clarissa's elbow. "Let me show you to your brother."

"How very kind of you, Mr. Jameson." Clarissa fought the urge to shake off his hand. Instead she flashed him a brilliantly false smile. "Lead on."

-

-

-

Eric's hands shook as he lifted the coffee to his lips. He was leaning heavily against the table, his body trembling. The coffee was bitter but had nothing on the thoughts that chased through his head. Clarissa had sat at this very table, sipping her tea, knowing that the tea he was drinking was spiked with a drug.

_I won't risk you._

He wanted to choke her. He wanted to shout and rail at her. To leave him helplessly behind, drugged into immobility, spoke volumes of their relationship. To go off without him, to go into danger without backup was appallingly reckless. He wondered if the plan was going well. Had they run into any problems? His eyes crept to the clock, trying to calculate the time. Were they late? Were they alright?

Mim sat stiffly in his chair, hands clasped in his lap. He was staring into space, his face unusually still. He was listening, his whole body taut with the effort he was expending toward listening for some sign they had come back. Eric thought of what Clarissa had said.

_If all goes well, you can tell me how much you hate me later. If it isn't, then I won't be back_.

She couldn't be gone.

He tried to drink more of the coffee, needing to fight off the drug. He'd be damned if he would be weak as a kitten when she came back. If he couldn't thrash her, he'd have Stephen do it. The girl needed to learn something about love.

You don't leave the ones you love helplessly behind...

The thought brought him up short. She hadn't, had she? She had to go after Bram; she needed him so badly to be alive. Caine had come back. She needed them, grieved for them even after years alone. She couldn't stay with Eric and ignore their needs. She'd divided herself up as best she could. Could he blame her for that? She'd had Mim watch him; the man had slipped from the room only moments before Stephen entered. She'd left him under someone's care while she tended to her lost siblings.

He gritted his teeth, sipping the coffee. It wasn't enough. I'm going to kill her, he decided. I am still furious.

-

-

-

Clarissa watched as Bram was loaded into the car, standing with her arms folded over her chest. Jameson stood beside her, his face full of arrogance. He thought he'd provided the help Clarissa needed and that she would put in a good word for his transfer to London, back into the real world. She let him think it, knowing the truth: there wasn't any way she could keep that promise. London was so far out of her reach now, it might as well be Jupiter. She watched Caine secure his brother in the back seat of the car. Bram was supposed to be sedated. Clarissa had made certain that the syringe held nothing to dull her brother's senses. He acted drugged enough but she had no idea how much he'd received in the last twelve hours. She turned to the man standing beside her, a cool smile on her lips.

"Well, Mr. Jameson, I appreciate the use of the vehicle. We were concerned with speed on the road and the motorcycles were most expedient. Do keep them as a small gesture of my gratitude. I hope to have a grander gesture for you quite soon." The implied favor produced a wide smile from Jameson.

"It is my pleasure to assist you, Ms. Avery. Perhaps if I am in London, we can renew our acquaintance? I would love to see you in more civilized surroundings."

"Perhaps, Mr. Jameson." She inclined her head in tacit agreement. "But now I fear I must hurry off. Look for an official communiqué from my grandfather, outlining his… new deployment of our men." She let the toad hand her into the car, fastening her seatbelt as he closed the door. "Drive, Caine." She shivered as her nerves tightened. "How long before the charges go off?"

"About a second after I trigger the detonator." Caine flashed his teeth. "Give or take." He glanced in the rear view. "Bram, are you awake?"

Their brother was silent. Clarissa turned toward him. "Bram?" she said softly. "Can you hear us?" He didn't respond. She frowned. "I don't know how drugged up he is, Caine."

Caine floored the gas. "Let's get down the road a piece and worry about him in safe surroundings."

Clarissa thought of Gallowsmere and Eric, her body trembling. "Stephen and Evey will be home by then," she said thoughtfully. "I am in so much trouble."

"Do you need him?" Caine asked. "We have you. We go and get the little…Mim, and then we're away. You needn't live with those people anymore." He pressed the detonator. The muffled explosion was gratifying. "I mean, they took care of you, I know, but they aren't family the way we are."

"But they are family, Caine." She looked out at the darkening sky. "Stephen is our uncle."

"Brother to a father none of us ever knew." Caine gripped the steering wheel. "If he can help with getting Bram back on his feet, perhaps we can use him. If not, then we dump them and move on. We have each other, Clair. What else do you want?"

They drove in relative silence after that. Clarissa didn't know how to explain to Caine that Stephen was important and Caine was certain that no one else needed to be involved with them aside from Mim.

-

-

-

Two car changes and hours later, Caine pulled into the lane to Gallowsmere. Bram was mumbling in the back seat, his voice soft and slurred as he talked deliriously. Clarissa slid out of the car as they came to a halt.

"Mim!" she shouted. "Mim!"

The little man flew from the back of the house, running pell-mell for Clarissa. She caught hold of him, steadying them both. "Mim, he's not lucid. We've had no opportunity to determine his condition but I made sure the drug they wanted to give him for transpo was not administered. He's talking fevered. I'm afraid he may have the toxin in him."

Mim nodded and opened the back of the car, his hands moving Bram carefully. He spoke to the delirious man in a gentle voice. Clarissa turned from them, feeling the moment to be private. Caine was beside her, his expression surly. "You think that will help?" he asked skeptically.

Clarissa hung her head. "I don't see that it will hurt." She tilted her head up to him. "Caine, Bram loved him. I knew it then but I couldn't help them. Then Atherton said you were dead, all dead. I was all alone. There wasn't any way to change the past and the future was so empty..."

"I fought to find you, goose." He leaned his head close to hers. "I would walk to hell and kick the devil's arse if needed to bring you back to me." He sighed. "We are three again. It has been so long alone, Clair. I thought you were gone forever. The dreams were killing me." He shuddered, picking her up in his arms. "I dreamed the most horrible things had happened to you."

"They did," said a voice nearby. Caine slipped Clair behind him, taking a defensive posture.

Stephen looked at him grimly, no welcome in his dark eyes. Clarissa laid her hands on Caine, whose hands were curled into fists.

"No, Caine. This is Uncle Stephen. He managed Grandfather…"

"Too fucking late," Caine pointed out. "Where were you when Atherton shit on our lives? Because we were freaks like Evelyn, we paid for his crimes and his viciousness with our bodies, our blood. Where were you?" He sneered at Stephen. "Fucking Fingerman."

Stephen didn't bat an eye. He looked at Caine coolly. "I was killing every person that worked at Larkhill, boy, and then I took down Parliament."

Caine tilted his head. "You were V?" He snorted. "Priceless. That is simply priceless. Clair, my darling heart, you kissed the hand that cost you?"

Clarissa rounded on him. "I chose my road, Caine. You weren't here, you hadn't come, and I had no choice but to side against Atherton when the chance came." She thought about it a moment after she said it. "It was a good choice, Caine. The right choice, all things considered. You don't get to come into my life and judge me. You haven't walked my path, just as I haven't walked yours. I love you; I accept that you are full of hate and vengeance. I don't like it but I don't judge you for it." She turned her back to him. "Stop being an ass and grow up."

Caine said nothing. He moved to the front of the car and fished out a pack of cigarettes. Lighting one, he waited on his sibs. Clarissa went to the back of the car and leaned against the boot. After a moment, she sank down against the bumper and buried her face in her hands. Stephen came to stand beside her.

"Clarissa, what have you done?" he asked quietly. She lifted her head and in the moonlight, he could see the tears on her cheeks. She smiled sadly.

"I have gained the whole world, Uncle Stephen, and I have lost my soul." She laughed shakily. "I've broken everything I had to fix something I thought lost forever."

"Eric is in the kitchen," Stephen said slowly. "He's quite angry."

"He should be." Clarissa said. "I was awful to him." She looked at Stephen. "Not in the same way I was awful to you, but terrible."

"You could have trusted me…"

"Evey needed you more." She sighed wearily. "I couldn't take you from her. I couldn't ask you for help and risk you for something that was my problem." She lowered her head again. "God, I'm tired. This was nerve-wracking enough for one day."

"Day's not over yet, Clarissa. We have a lot to talk about, don't we?" Stephen asked soberly. Clarissa nodded, her shoulders slumping with exhaustion.

"No doubt we do."


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Notes: Hello! We are in a good mood today. Hope it all pans out and you like it.---edited 11/17/07...corrections, blunders and seamlessness. Heh. ES

Disclaimer: Same as all other chapters. I own nothing.

**Brawn, Brains, and Beauty**

As Clarissa sat on the rear bumper of the car, her posture speaking of her emotional state, Stephen stood beside her, wondering if he should offer her comfort. He was furious with her, just as Eric was, but he knew too that he would have risked the same things for Evelyn had the opportunity arisen. Clarissa cradled her head in her hands, silent as she waited for some word from Mim.

A few moments passed. Caine came round the far side of the car. He stood opposite Stephen on Clarissa's other side, his face unreadable in the darkness. Clarissa ignored him. Caine held out an unlit cigarette toward her.

"Pax, Clair?" She lifted her head, seeing the offering and shook her head.

"I'm still angry with you," she said, her voice tart. "You owe Uncle Stephen an apology."

Caine took a sharply drawn breath. He looked at Stephen. "I beg your pardon," he said, his voice brusque. Stephen nodded in acknowledgement. Caine turned his attention back to Clarissa. "Pax, Clair?"

She took the cigarette from him then and set it to her lips. Caine lit it for her, almost smiling. She shook her head at him. "You're lucky I can't hold a grudge against you." He chuckled.

"Nor I against you, Clair." Caine glanced into the back of the car. "Do you think he can help Bram?"

"God, I hope so." Clair drew on her cigarette. "Remember how vicious Bram was as a boy? I'd hate to face his rage without Mim." She looked up at Stephen. "Our Caine here is probably the best bare knuckles boxer the Fingermen ever trained, but Bram is all out savagery. He fights with a number of disciplines, all lethal and all terrifying." She shook her head. "I think the only way they kept him in was to keep him as sedated as possible."

"They did more than drug him," Caine said darkly. He cracked his knuckles. "I've half a mind to go back and take that bastard Jameson out…"

"No!" Clarissa snapped. "No more bloody vengeance. We're back together again. What more would you dare ask of the universe, Caine? Let the Fingermen rot under their own evil. We are not a part of that anymore. We can be free of it forever."

"Do you want to be free of it?" Caine asked. "You told me Atherton was dead. The fraternity has no head now. We could seize the reins of power and take control…"

She shuddered. "God, no!" she exclaimed. "Why the hell would I want that?"

Mim appeared. "Clarissa, he wants to see you." His voice was thick with tears. Clarissa handed her cigarette to Caine and moved to lean into the back seat. Bram's face was turned away, his black curls damp with sweat.

"Bram?" she said softly. "Bram, are you awake now?"

He shuddered. "I called you a name on our tenth birthday and you wouldn't talk to me for a week. What did I call you?'

She frowned. "When we were ten?" she repeated. "You called me Creedy's Sweetheart and I cried until Caine thrashed you and then I cried because you were hurt. You were an awful brat then."

With a grace she wasn't prepared for, he turned and lunged at her. His impetus shoved her out of the car and onto her back. He was atop her, his fingers digging into her shoulders, his eyes impossible to see in the dark. Clarissa cried out in startled fear, paralyzed by his sudden nearness and the pressure of his fingers. She writhed under him in panic. "Caine!" she screamed.

As suddenly as he'd landed on her, Bram's weight was gone.

Caine had him by the arms and was holding him fiercely. Bram howled in fury and Caine shook him like a terrier with a rat. "No one," Caine snarled. "No one hurts Clair, Bram. Not even you." He took a blow to his belly that made him grunt. "Damnit, you idiot, we got you free of that hell hole and you're going to fight us? I'll break your bloody head in, ingrate."

"Don't hurt him!" Mim shouted. Caine slammed Bram back against the car.

"Stay out of it," he growled. Bram got an arm free and caught Caine alongside the jaw. Caine shook off the blow. "Brother, that's your last free shot. Hit me again and, blood or no blood, I will rearrange those girly features of yours and make you look like me."

Bram cocked back his fist for another punch. His arm was caught by strong hands and Bram lifted eyes to the interloper. His eyes took in the one face he never expected to see. He went slack in Caine's arms, staring wide eyed. "Evelyn!" he exclaimed. He seemed to shrink in on himself. "Oh, God, not you too!"

"I'm not Evelyn," the older man said gently. "Evelyn is dead, boy. I'm your uncle, Stephen. Atherton is dead and your brother and sister have rescued you." He held the arm firmly but gently. "You are safe here, Bram. All of us will keep you safe."

Bram collapsed in on himself, sobbing deep dry sobs that wracked his body. Caine hauled him against his broad chest, holding him with more tenderness than Stephen would have expected of the muscular man. Caine was joined by Clarissa, who stroked her brother's hair, fingering the tangled locks gently. They spoke together, muted whispers in a language that they seemed to understand, a shorthand version of English that made no sense to the listeners. Bram's agony lessened and he wrapped his arms around Caine and Clarissa, still sobbing but there was a sense of relief in them now.

Stephen watched them, agony in his chest as he recalled being that close to another person. He still missed his brother with an ache that would never fade. He'd understood Clarissa's endless grieving over her brothers and could well understand the desperate need that had driven her to act so rashly in order to reunite them all.

Evelyn's children had come to Gallowsmere, he thought. The home that nurtured their father could expand to hold the children he'd never known. Stephen turned away at last and went inside.

Evey was sitting with Eric at the kitchen table. Eric was still a sickly grey, his face expressionless, but his eyes lifted to Stephen in a desperate inquiry. "They have returned," the younger man told him quietly. "Unharmed and with their brother."

Eric's eyes closed and some of the terrible tension fell away from him. Evey looked at her lover. "Clarissa is unhurt, then?" she asked. Stephen nodded. She nodded. "Should I make some food?"

"I don't know that they are hungry." Stephen glanced out the back door. "They are far too interested in one another, I suspect, to think of something so simple." He shook his head. "They are very like my brother."

"Then they are like you as well," Evey said practically. The back door opened. Clarissa's voice called out hesitantly.

"Uncle Stephen, may we come in?" Stephen glanced down the hallway.

"Do you want to?" he asked. "I've never refused you before, have I?"

Clarissa came in, leading Bram, Caine walking behind him in support.

Bram was thin, almost to the point of being gaunt, but his face was surprisingly beautiful. He looked like a sculpture of a man, his brown eyes the same bittersweet as his sister's fringed with thick black lashes and his hair long black locks that hung well over his shoulders. He looked around the kitchen in a sort of numb surprise, as though he'd never seen something so normal and simple. The shapeless clothes hung off his body, hinting that he was far more delicate than his muscular brother, but the arms that clung to his siblings were corded with wiry muscles, not the heavy bulk that Caine sported. Clarissa urged him to a seat, glancing nervously at Eric then back to her brother.

"Bram, this is Stephen's fiancé, Evey. Evey, this is my brother, Bram. The big one is Caine."

Bram lifted his eyes to Evey and she read there a wealth of sadness. "Good evening," he said politely. His voice was soft and sweet, a tone similar to his sister's voice. "Pleased to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you, Bram," Evey said warmly. "Are you hungry? I'd be happy to make something up for you."

His eyes drifted closed at the thought. "Might I ask for some hot tea?" he asked. "It has been almost four years since I last had a cuppa." His eyes opened. "One thousand four hundred and thirty-two days, I believe." He sighed. "I can't remember anything else I could possibly want."

Clarissa stared at her brother, her stricken face turning pale. For a moment, she stood there then she was gone, slipping past Caine and Stephen and going back outside. Stephen followed her silently. He found her in the garden, her face lifted toward the sky. She was weeping silently, tears tracking glistening paths down her cheeks. He pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. She didn't fight him; instead she melted against him, sobbing harder.

"Tea," she gasped. "All this time, all his torment at the hands of the Fingermen, and he remembers tea." She pressed her face to her uncle's chest. "Oh, God, why didn't I know? Why didn't I find him ages ago? I left him there." She cried harder. "I should have forced Atherton to bag me; we might have been in the same cellblock."

He held her tightly. "No, Clarissa. You would have suffered far worse than what you did." He hugged her closer. "You have to make a future for all of you now. You have to work at making Bram able to tolerate his liberty, train him that he's free, and let him make his way in the world." He rocked her gently. "I wish you'd trusted me to help you with this. You did know that I would have helped."

"I couldn't take you from Evey, Uncle Stephen. I had to do this with Caine. Bram is our brother." She lifted her head to look at him. "I couldn't risk your life on something that wasn't your problem. You have a baby coming, that takes precedence." She looked back at the house. "I couldn't risk you, any of you."

"You drugged Eric, Clarissa, which hurt him." Stephen looked down at her, his expression grim. "He loves you but you've betrayed him deeply. It may be too much."

She turned her face away. "If I'd left him mobile, he'd have tried to follow us. I wasn't about to put him in the way of danger." Her shoulders slumped. "I had Mim watch him for me but I couldn't risk him trying to follow."

"You must talk to him, Clarissa."

She swiped at her cheeks. "I will," she whispered.

-

-

-

Bram looked at the stranger sitting across the table, returning the measuring stare the man was giving him. "We haven't been introduced," he said slowly. "Have we?"

"Eric Finch," Eric said, extending his hand. Bram stared at it for a moment before accepting it. His hand shook slightly.

"Bram Avery," the younger man said, lifting his chin. "Nice to meet you. Are you a friend of Clair's?"

"You might say that," Eric hedged. He wasn't sure what he felt about Clarissa at this moment. This young man was obviously in poor health, the effects of years of deprivation showing on his strained features. Mim had come in and was sitting near him, one hand reaching out to touch the young man as if to prove he was real. Bram smiled at the touch, dropping a hand to cover Mim's, their fingers lacing together.

"I'm free," Bram whispered to the little therapist. "I was always afraid they'd find you and I'm so glad they didn't." He lifted Mim's hand to his lips. "I held on to the memory of you, to the memory of Clair and Caine, to get me through the worst times. I imagined your face every night before bed, every morning before they started in. I knew I was loved. They couldn't take that away from me."

Mim's blue eyes were full of tears. "I tried to find you, Bram. I looked through any databases I could access. When I found your sister in one, I put myself into place as her therapist to learn if she knew where you were. When she said you were dead, I tried to make my peace with it but I couldn't. Then she came to me and told me Caine had come, that they were going to find you. I worried all day that they would fail."

Caine snorted. "I don't fail," he growled. "It wouldn't have mattered how bad things got, I was not coming home without him." He laid his hand on his brother's shoulder. "I would have carried him out on my back if that is what it took." Bram's free hand covered his brother's.

"You always were the brawn of the bunch," he said affectionately.

"And you were always the beauty, you pouf." Caine's laughter rumbled in the kitchen. "Poor Clair got stuck as the brains. Sucked for her that you got all the prettiness."

"Clarissa is quite beautiful," Eric snapped. "As for brains, that might be up for consideration." He got to his feet, the action jerky, and left the room. Evey paused in what she was doing and looked after him, her expression sorrowful. Bram noticed the look.

"Evey, what did he mean?" he asked when she set his tea before him. She hesitated. He smiled gently. "Did Clair do something stupid?"

"She and Eric were…involved. She drugged him this morning to keep him from interfering in your rescue." Bram's eyes widened. He looked toward Caine.

"Was that your idea?" he asked. "You'd be bloody minded like that but not our Clair."

Caine shrugged. "She was trained by Grandfather, Bram. Our Clair has done a damn sight worse than slipping someone a Mickey." He tilted his head back. "She was afraid that Stephen and the policeman would interfere. She got rid of one but the other stayed behind. She changed plans in the middle." Caine seemed thoughtful. "I didn't know she was shagging him. That's an annoying thought."

"Eric is a good man," Evey snapped at him. She glared at the large man angrily. "He brought out the best in her these past few weeks. You seem to have brought out the worst in her quite a bit faster."

Caine nodded. "I may have done," he agreed flatly. "But it was always there, you know. We aren't very civilized under these charming exteriors." He turned to leave the room. "Bram, will you be alright?"

"I'm fine. Go see to Clair. She'll need one of us." Bram sipped his tea, eyes closing in blissful enjoyment of the hot beverage. "Thank you, Evey. This is marvelous."

-

-

-

Caine wandered outside to find his sister in their uncle's arms. He could hear her sobbing and the sound of her pain moved him as little else did. He joined them, walked silently up to the pair. "Private party?" he asked. Clair's cheeks were wet. Caine frowned at her. "Clair, my love, what is it? Is it that policeman? He's not worth your tears, if it is."

"Caine," she said brokenly. "He loved me and I betrayed him for you, for Bram."

"You drugged him." Caine shrugged. "It was a means to an end. Not personal." He sighed at her expression. "Don't look at me like that, love. It's not like you knocked him out violently, you just gave him a sleeping draught. Simple, non-violent and polite. If I'd known you were bedding him, I would have knocked him out for you."

Clarissa's mouth fell open and she stared at him dumbfounded. "That's not how this works, Caine," she said after a moment. "I accept you for who you are. There may be things about me you don't care for but you have to accept them or not. You don't get to make me into the person you think I need to be. Yes, I was sleeping with Eric. Want to make something of it?" She drew herself to her full height. "I may be a girl, but I rather think I could put a dent in that hideous ego of yours."

Caine chuckled. "Better men than you have tried it," he warned. "I beat them all."

Clarissa's chin lifted defiantly. "I fancy I could set you on your ass in under five minutes."

Caine laughed. "You might try," he scoffed. She launched herself at him, fists coming down on either side of his thick neck in a practiced move. Caine was taken by surprise and the force of the blow staggered him. His knees gave and he hit the ground. Clair drew back and aimed a kick at his sternum. He deflected it, slower than he expected. She moved faster, her reflexes at top form. Caine found himself on his back, her foot on his throat.

"That wasn't even three minutes," she mocked. "Never doubt that I trained as hard as you did, brother mine. I learned my lessons well." She vaulted into a backflip that carried her out of his reach. "I was a Fingerman Elite without the perks of really being a Fingerman." She eyed him as he rose. "In the last few years, I had to be hard enough to survive alone. I didn't have you or Bram and I was a girl. Some people thought that meant I was fair game. I learned to play by their rules, Caine, and I got really good at it. Ask Uncle Stephen." She turned toward the house, her footsteps heavy. "Now I have to beg my lover's forgiveness for what I did."

Caine got to his feet, staring after her. "She's good," he said approvingly. "I thought she was just all attitude." He rubbed his neck. "Damn."

-

-

-

Clarissa mounted the stairs, her legs trembling and her belly full of anxiety. Eric hadn't been in the kitchen so she headed for her room, wondering if he were there. She felt horrible about the drugging but hadn't seen any alternative to it. She still didn't.

Eric wasn't in her room. She moved down the landing to his old room and hesitated, one hand raised to knock on the door. Dread paralyzed her and she could not bring herself to rap on the wood. As she stood frozen in place, the door opened and Eric stood in the frame, his eyes dark with fury.

"Hello," he said coldly. "Can I help you?"

She licked dry lips. "I was hoping to talk to you, Eric." Her voice sounded strained to her own ears. He hesitated then stepped back to let her in. She entered the room, fighting her desire to cry. Eric closed the door behind her softly. He paced around her to sit in the armchair by the window. From there, he just looked at her grimly. She folded her arms across her belly protectively. "Eric, I…" Words failed her. She could feel his rage and it was frightening to her. He was so cold.

"You drugged me." He said each word clearly, enunciating each one carefully. "You left me here and went off on a harebrained scheme. No back up, no contingency plan. Nothing, Clarissa. Hours of waiting, incapable of moving while that narcotic was in my system. Do you have any idea how that felt?" He studied her as though they had never met. "Did you care?"

"I did," she protested. "I thought of nothing but getting Bram home safe and begging your forgiveness, Eric. I expected you to go into town with Stephen and Evey, to be out all day…"

"I didn't want to leave you, Clarissa." He leaned back, looking at her steadily. "I thought the dreams were making you act strangely, that you needed a shoulder to lean on. I thought that would be me." He huffed a bitter laugh. "Instead you had that already taken care of, didn't you?"

"I couldn't tell you, Eric." She moved a little closer to him. "I couldn't betray Caine…"

"But you betrayed me, didn't you?" He shook his head at her. "I was just your lover, not someone to trust, not someone to bring into the plot. I was just an obstacle you needed rid of to go and risk your skin. You sat across from me, sipping your tea, knowing the whole time that I was drinking the drug. You played it well, Clarissa, you never let me guess that you would do something like that to me."

"I didn't see an option…" she said but he cut her off.

"You could have trusted me. My girl would have confided in me." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought I knew you, that you held me in your heart as I held you in mine. I see now that I was wrong. I may be in your bed but I am not in your heart. There's only room for your brothers in there." He got heavily to his feet. "I'd show you out, Clair," he used the diminutive with emphasis. "But I rather think you can find it yourself."

Her heart was pounding so hard that she could barely breathe. "Eric, I didn't mean to hurt you. I wanted to protect you."

"Well, you failed, Clair." He was only three feet away from her, his body taut with anger. She stared at him wildly.

"Eric." She propelled herself across the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Please, please, don't think I don't love you!" She pressed kisses to his jaw, trying to reach his mouth. "Please, Eric, I love you. I wanted to keep you safe."

Suddenly he kissed her lips, his mouth fierce on hers. She clung to him, crying in earnest again, wanting him to understand, to forgive her. He ran his hands over her body, stirring her nerves to life, and she whimpered as his touch turned from demanding to punishing. She kissed him desperately. "I love you," she whispered. "I love you. Please…"

He stripped her, shredding the crimson blouse, tearing the fastenings of the slacks. He didn't speak to her, his hands busily at work, his mouth occupied with every inch of skin he bared. Clarissa felt burned by the fury in him, all too aware that she had caused the pain he was venting on her clothes but not on her yet. She ran her fingers through his hair, tried to ride out the storm but it only seemed to make him angrier still.

He pushed her onto the bed, leaving her only to shed his clothes, coming back to her hard and ready. She opened herself to him, accepting the punishing kisses, the silence as her due for her betrayal. He thrust into her, found her wet and welcoming and the joining seemed to leech away some of his anger. His next thrust was gentler, more what she knew from him. He brought her hands over her head; lay over her like a blanket and she bucked under him, shifting her hips to take him deeper still. He lifted his head back, his face still closed to her, but she knew the signs that he was close. She tried to match his rhythm and her body sang to it perfectly. As she reached her peak, she felt him thrust hard into her and felt him spill his seed inside her and he cried out with it. She joined him, locking her legs around his hips as her body shook and quaked with pleasure.

Dazed, she lay under him, feeling his heart pounding against hers. "Eric…" He cut off her words with a kiss.

"We'll talk later," he said gruffly. "Not now." He shifted to lie behind her, his body still humming with energy. She curled against him; certain she had convinced him of her remorse. She fell asleep listening to him breathing behind her.

-

-

-

Morning came and Clarissa woke to a cold bed.

Puzzled, she sat up and saw the closet door standing open. Nothing hung within it. She got out of bed and walked to the dresser. The drawers were also empty. Nothing remained in the room except her and her ruined clothes. It took a few minutes for the awful truth to filter into her head. Even then, she hurriedly wrapped the bed sheet about and went to her room. Looking out the window, she saw that his sedan was gone.

She stared at the empty space, thinking for a moment that she would blink and the car would reappear. She felt the loss as keenly as if someone had flayed the skin off her body. She went to her knees at the window, pressing her wrist into her mouth, sinking her teeth into the tender skin. It blocked the cry of agony that filled her throat and she stayed like that a long time, until she could force herself to rise and go to the bathroom. She promptly voided her stomach until her heaves ran dry then forced herself to bathe and dress.

Downstairs in the kitchen, she found Evey waiting for her. Evey's face told Clarissa that she already knew. Clarissa lifted her chin. "He's gone back to London, hasn't he?" she whispered. Evey nodded sadly. Clarissa shuddered. "It's no more than what I deserved," she said heavily.

"I am so sorry, Clarissa." Evey reached out to the girl and Clarissa went into her arms, weeping silently.

"It's my fault," Clarissa confessed. "I did it all wrong." She trembled against Evey, needing the comfort of her friendship. "I've wrecked everything, Evey, and I can't fix it."

"There has to be a way," Evey murmured into her hair. "He loves you. He's just hurt."

Nice to think so, Clarissa thought as grief choked her. But he's hurt so badly that he can't be with me. There's no way to fix this.


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: Feeling very emo today. Writing break-ups is always difficult for me, especially when you consider that I am married to my first real love and we've been married 19 years last Dec. No real experience in break-ups. Sorry. ;) ----11/15/07...edited, all reasons stated previously.ES

Disclaimers: This is a pirate invasion of the V-verse. Pillaging and pilfering the original characters who belong to their respective owners. Arrgh, ahoy, mateys! Grab your favorite characters and run for the ship. We'll carry them to new lands and new adventures. I don't own them, I'm just exerting a five finger discount on their use.

**Reunions and Remembrances**

Gallowsmere, weeks later...

The triplets were together during the daytime, their joy at being reunited only a little dimmed by Clarissa's quiet regarding the disappearance of Eric. Bram was slowly building his strength, Caine was taciturn which seemed normal, and Clair was publicly happy and supportive. She kept to herself when not with her brothers, the perfect mask back in place, and Stephen was unhappy to see it. He confided in Evey one evening.

"She's miserable," he said quietly. Evey nodded. They were lying on their bed, Stephen's hand splayed over the mound that was his unborn child. "All the work that she did with Mim has gone. She's back to the withdrawn girl she was when we brought her here."

"She misses Eric," Evey replied. The baby kicked under Stephen's hand, a sharp little bump that made Evey laugh. She sobered and continued. "Do you think he'll forgive her?"

"I don't know." Stephen rubbed the tight little belly soothingly. "It was a betrayal, Evey. Eric didn't deserve to be drugged and left behind. I understand why she pushed me so hard that day and the days before it; I understand why she felt she had to go alone. Eric had no siblings; he's learned to depend upon others. She didn't depend on him when it mattered most to her. I suppose it's hard for him to forgive that."

He dropped a kiss on the side of her throat and she arched up to give him better access. He trailed kisses over the slender neck and down to the slim shoulder, nipping her lightly. She groaned in appreciation. "I like that," she said breathlessly. "That makes me want to do very naughty things to you."

He chuckled. "Really?" His mouth found the lobe of her ear and he sucked on it gently. "I suppose you are in a truly naughty mood, my love? I mean, I'm rather fond of that side of you. It's always a pleasure when you are being bad."

She laughed softly. "Where are the children?"

"Out in the woods," he replied. "Clarissa took the boys and Mim out for the afternoon."

"Oooohh," she said thoughtfully. "So we are alone, are we?"

"You sound very devious, woman," he scolded. She turned to face him, her eyes bright with love, and smiled a wicked smile.

"Nothing devious about seducing you," she said emphatically. "I openly declare my intentions to bring the great vigilante to his knees…Preferably between mine."

Stephen started to laugh but the mental image stopped him and his expression turned worshipful. "No better place to be," he said, his voice turning a little hoarse. "I am more than willing to play along, my lady."

She leaned into him with a searing kiss that promised many more delights to follow.

-

-

-

The triplets wandered in the woods behind Gallowsmere, Mim with them, his hand tucked into Bram's. Clarissa walked a little ahead, keeping step with Caine, her brown hair bound back in a prim braid.

Mim watched her, worried about her. She'd withdrawn considerably since the Inspector had gone back to London. She pretended to be happy for Bram and Caine, but Mim hadn't spent so many months with her to be fooled by the mask she showed the world. There were a thousand clues to her grief and pain, if one only looked for them. He felt a flash of guilt, realizing he'd been spending all his time with Bram and not being available to her.

Caine kept looking at her, sidelong glances that were puzzled. The biggest of the triplets was bad tempered at the best of times, but his devotion to his siblings was complete. He seemed to be quite aware that not all was well with his sister but he didn't really possess the social skills to handle the situation. He lacked subtlety and his direct nature was in conflict with his desire to believe that everything was as it appeared. Eventually the blunt question escaped his control.

"Are you going to keep moping over that bloke?"

Clarissa hesitated in her tracks for the briefest moment, and then she continued as though the question hadn't been asked. Mim winced, recognizing the silence as a very bad sign. Bram looked down at him, his deep green eyes curious. Mim shook his head, squeezing the long fingered hand he held. Bram nodded.

Caine grimaced. "Clair," he began again. She turned to look at him directly, her face cool and composed into a complete lack of emotion. Caine frowned at her. "Do you want me to go to London and bring him back?"

"No." She began walking again. Caine grabbed her arm.

"You leave us behind," he growled. "You're here but you aren't. You're mooning after that old man and he's the bastard that left you. You should just cut him out, leave him gone, and be happy that we're back with you again."

"Release me." Her tone was soft but deadly. She glanced down at the hand that gripped her arm. "Let me go, Caine."

"No." He lowered his head to hers, meeting her eye to eye. "We are a family again. Why do you want that man? He's the fool to have turned his back on you, Clair. We have enough love for you that you don't need him."

There was a hint of pleading in Caine's voice. He sensed that something wasn't working in his confrontation but he didn't know what. Clair's distance was puzzling to him, he saw the world in fundamental black and white and her emotional withdrawal came to him as a rejection of sorts. He tried to reach her through force, the wrong route to her at any point. "Stop thinking about him!"

She moved so fast that he was caught unawares. Her free hand lashed out and caught him a sharp uppercut under the chin. Caine rocked back, stars flashing before his eyes. He shook his head to clear it. Clarissa stood a few feet away, rigid with fury. When he was focused on her, she held his gaze with her own.

"No one tells me what to do," she said slowly. "No one, Caine. I love you, I love Bram, and I knew what I did when I did it. I took the gamble for my brother. It cost me Eric and I can live with that. I expected there might be a chance Eric would forgive me and a chance he wouldn't." She swallowed. "But no one tells me how to feel, what to feel, what to do. Not Stephen, not Evey, not Bram, not Mim, not you. I will grieve for Eric. I will do what I need to do. It will take as long as it takes. Don't try to make me shorten it or avoid it." She turned her head to Mim. "You might consider explaining the way this works to my brother, Mim. I would rather not repeat this conversation ever again." She nodded to Bram who nodded back. With a fluid movement, she whirled and raced through the trees to go deeper into the woods. Within moments, she was lost among the woods.

Bram shook his head. "You handled that beautifully, Caine."

"What the fuck is wrong with her?" Caine demanded, rubbing the place on his jaw where her fist had struck him.

"She fell in love," Mim said sadly. "And she broke his faith to do what she had to."

"Well, he's an asshole if he doesn't understand that," Caine shouted. "She's full of regrets but it was his decision, wasn't it? He walked away from her. She came back for him but that wasn't enough for him. He ran back to London." He scowled. "Let's go get him and bring him back. They can hash it out locked in the playroom together."

"That wouldn't be wise," Bram said mildly. "Really, Caine, you miss the point. He's too angry and hurt to listen to anyone and she's not going to explain it again." He shrugged. "It needs to resolve itself if possible." He sighed. "Probably not soon, at any road."

Mim smiled up at him. "You understand," he said happily. Bram nodded.

Caine's expression turned black. "Well, I don't," he snarled. "This is all bollocks. She needs…" He paused and Bram nodded at him.

"She needs Eric," he said. "But we messed it up for her. She's blaming herself and trying not to blame us. We'd do better to let her grieve and decide to move on, than to tamper with it. She won't thank us for mucking about."

Caine stared at his brother, frowning as he considered the man's words. His rage slowly evaporated. "We can't fix it?" he asked finally. Bram shook his head.

"No, we can't. Now don't confront her again, Caine. Just let it go. When she wants our help, she'll ask for it." He held out his hand to his brother. "Come on, she'll come back when she wants to."

-

-

-

Clarissa was careful not to leave a trail behind as she went deeper into the ancient trees. When she felt far enough away, she went up a friendly oak and perched in the branches. Alone, she let go of her control and the tears came fast and hard. She sobbed silently, misery weighing down her heart as she cried for the loss of the man who'd shared her bed, for the silence of the voice that made her weak in the knees, and for the gaping hole that had replaced the now completed hole that her brothers had filled. She'd traded one grief for another and it had been the devil's own bargain.

She couldn't tell anymore which one was worse. Had she hurt this much over the loss of Bram and Caine? It didn't seem as though she had. Eric's loss was terrible, his choice to leave her a betrayal that sliced so deep into her soul she thought she would have bled to death long before now. The brothers had been taken against their will, but Eric had taken himself away. In London, he was so far away from her that he might have well gone to the moon. She ached for him, an endless need that kept her from her sleep and tormented her as she lay dry-eyed and exhausted in her bed. The effort to hold back the agony was sapping her strength. She couldn't eat more than a few mouthfuls until the pain wrenched at her belly and she was sick. She hungered for nothing so much as her lover's touch and she was miserable.

Wearily, she let herself cry, too exhausted to hold it in anymore. She didn't know she had that many tears in her body but they kept coming from her aching eyes until she tipped her head back against the trunk of the tree and let the sorrow consume her. Once she accepted them, they began to slow. She sighed, the exhalation hitching with a sob at the end.

When she felt a bit better, she'd head back to the house again but for now, the woods were quiet, the tree she sat in was comfortable, and her heart hurt too much to move yet. She closed her eyes and let herself rest.

-

-

-

Caine and Bram decided to spar in the field behind the house. Stephen and Evey went out to watch them, taking a seat beside Mim in the grass. Evey looked at the slender counselor. "Where's Clarissa?" Mim pursed his lips.

"The Princess is in the woods." His voice was a little sad. Evey nodded. Stephen frowned.

"Is she alright?" he asked.

"No," Mim answered. "But then you know that, Stephen. She needs a bit of time alone, I gather, and she'll come back to us when she feels ready."

Stephen nodded, turning his attention back to the two young men. He worried for the loss of his bright niece that had appeared during Eric's stay and vanished when the policeman had gone back to London. The Clarissa who shared his house now was a new and altogether different creature, subdued and oddly docile. He tried to focus on the young men and not on the solitary girl hiding in the woods.

Caine was a fighter who possessed little finesse. He waded after his brother with single-minded determination, his muscular body like a juggernaut that seemed unstoppable. Bram was thinner, still underweight after weeks of feeding him up, but his body was whipcord, tight and fast. It was obvious that he possessed a formidable fighting style that incorporated several martial arts versions Stephen practiced as well. He was faster and more graceful than Caine, irritating his bulkier brother with a running tag and chase.

Caine kept trying to get his brother to hold still long enough to come to blows but Bram stayed well out of reach. After a few minutes, Bram swept in and took Caine's feet from under him, tipping his brother onto his back. He threw himself atop his brother, pinning him with one hand on the thick throat.

"Gotcha," he gloated. Caine growled and bucked him off.

"Hardly, ponce." The bigger man got to his feet with surprising speed and latched onto his brother, spinning him to hook an arm around his throat. "Table's turned."

Bram reached behind himself and wrapped an arm around the back of Caine's head. With a convulsive twist, he flipped his brother forward and slammed him onto his back. Bram stepped back, waiting, but Caine didn't rise. Bram's expression turned doubtful and he moved closer. "Caine?" he said worriedly. There was no response. Bram stepped closer still. Caine's hand lashed out and caught his ankle, yanking him off balance and bringing him to the ground. When Bram was prone, Caine pinned him down, grinning.

"Soft heart," he scolded. "You know better."

"You get the point," Bram conceded, laughing. His head lifted, suddenly puzzled. "Clair," he said quietly.

Caine's head lifted as well, both of them looking toward the woods. A moment later, Clarissa appeared, walking slowly out of the woods and down the long field. Bram got to his feet as did Caine, waiting. She didn't hasten to them; instead she gave them a half wave and skirted the area to head into the house. Evey levered herself up and dusted off the seat of her trousers. Mim got up as well. When Evey looked at him, he half-shrugged. "I need to talk to her as well."

They went to the house and found Clarissa filling the kettle, gazing out the window. She glanced at them and then put the kettle on. "I wanted some tea," she said quietly. Evey nodded.

"Tea's good," she agreed. Mim took a seat at the table.

"Princess," he said slowly. "It's been a while since we talked…"

She turned to face him, her dark brown eyes full of grief. "I take it that you want to discuss things now?" Her voice was calm and cool, completely at odds with the message her eyes were giving. Mim nodded.

"It's been weeks, Clarissa, and you've said nothing. I thought you would come to me, to Evey perhaps, but you cannot keep all this in anymore. You have to trust someone. You have to. The isolation is eating at you…"

Clarissa tilted her head, frowning. "I'm rather accustomed to it," she pointed out. "Years of living alone have made me comfortable with silence. You are needed more by Bram right now. He's still adjusting."

"Bram is farther along than you think." Mim tapped the tabletop. "Right now, I am far more concerned with you. I've watched you, Clarissa, and you aren't doing so well. I've seen you changing these past few weeks and it's not for the better."

She stiffened as he spoke, her expression turning alarmed then shuttering into something far more guarded. "I had some thinking to do," she said slowly. Mim nodded.

"And what have you come up with?" he asked gently. She hesitated, glancing at Evey.

"If I tell you, will you keep my confidence?" Evey nodded, her frown revealing her worry. Clarissa's shoulders slumped and she dropped the veneer of self-assurance, letting her face display the true state of her emotions. "I've decided not to have an abortion."

Mim startled, his blue eyes opening wide. "What?" he half-shouted. She shook her head.

"I can't do it," she said sadly. "I've thought about it, weighed the options, and I can't do it. It's part Eric, too, not just me. It's not like before, when it happened because of the rapes. I love Eric, I can't kill his child."

"Clarissa," Evey gasped. "How long have you known? How did you find out?"

"The last time you went to town to see your doctor, I went to the chemist's and picked up a test, several tests actually. They were all positive." Clarissa leaned back against the sink. "I don't want to tell Eric. Not yet. Not until I am certain that the baby will actually survive." She frowned. "It may not. There are so many problems that can happen."

Evey stared at her, one hand on her belly. "Eric has to know," she said. "You have to tell him, Clarissa. It would make all the difference to him."

"Which is why I can't tell him," Clarissa retorted. "I don't want him to feel obligated to me. I know he would never abandon his child but I don't want him to come back to me for that alone. I'm not so foolish to believe that this will make a difference between us in the long run. I know that he will never trust me again." She said the last line sadly, her voice raw. "I will do my best to carry the baby to term, then I will give it to it's father to raise."

"But your baby…" Evey shivered. "Could you give up your child, Clarissa?"

"I grew up without a mother," Clarissa said. "At least Eric is a good and decent man. He won't raise the baby as Atherton raised us. It will be better off with him than with me in the end." The kettle shrilled and she took it off the burner to make the tea. Mim looked at Evey, seeing the woman's shocked expression.

In the midst of the silence, an alarm sounded. Clarissa's head snapped up, instantly vigilant. "Did any one know of company coming?" she asked sharply.

"No," Evey answered. She checked the small monitor by the cabinet. "There's a black car coming up the drive. I don't recognize it."

Clarissa grabbed her arm. "Protocols hold," she decided. "Better to prepare for the worst and be wrong." She waved to Mim. "Come, quickly now, downstairs at once." She hurried them downstairs, opening the passage. "Go to the playroom, to the safe room there. One of us will come for you." She pushed them inside, shoving a torch into Mim's hands. "Go quickly." As they moved away, she closed the passage again and shoved something across the door, a cabinet that would make it look as though no one had been there. She prayed her brothers felt her unease as she went back upstairs. She had no time to check on them, she made her way to the study and opened the priest hole.

Stephen had hidden the remainder of the V persona in the small opening. Clarissa stepped inside the opening, fighting the urge to check on her brothers and Stephen. She was cold and she wrapped the heavy woolen cloak around her shoulders, shivering with reaction. She pulled two of the matched blades and laid them in her lap as the panel slipped back into place, then curled one hand protectively over her stomach, comforting the tiny life inside her womb.

She would wait and see what happened next.

-

-

-

Caine and Bram stopped their play as a finger of ice touched them both. "Danger," Caine said sharply. Stephen listened and heard the alarm sounding in the house.

"Get inside," he said at once. "Weapons are in the study." The three of them raced for the door, hearing the car coming up the drive, its tires slipping in the gravel. They had just reached the garden when a spate of bullets halted them.

"Remain where you are!" a strange voice shouted. "Raise your hands into view, please."

Reluctantly the trio lifted their hands and turned to face the new arrivals. Several men spilled out of the car, armed with semiautomatic rifles. They took stances to keep Stephen and the younger men covered. Another figure emerged from the vehicle, straightening his vest and tie as he rose to his full height. His icy gaze raked over the three men and he smiled triumphantly.

"Three generations of Averys are at long last reunited!" he said cheerfully. "Stephen, my boy, aren't you pleased? Daddy's come home to Gallowsmere after so long away." He looked around eagerly. "If the boys are here, their bitch of a sister cannot be far away." He laid a hand on a man beside him, Caine recognized Martin Jameson from Bram's camp. "If you can find her, you can have her, my lad, a thank you for your excellent work in locating my son and my grandsons." The man smiled wolfishly.

"My pleasure to serve you, Shepherd." He tapped another one of the armed men. "Let's recon the house. If you find the girl, she's mine first. You have a turn later."

Bram's breathing was coming raggedly and Caine ground his teeth together in impotent fury. Stephen's face was expressionless. Atherton moved toward his son, smiling pleasantly. "Ah, Stephen, are you still with that luscious little trollop? I should like to make her acquaintance properly this time, since Clarissa ruined our chances the last time."

Stephen shuddered. "She left me after she met you," he said bitterly. Atherton laughed.

"My surveillance tells me otherwise. As I already know she lives here and that she is carrying your bastard, I needn't worry about getting her with child. It's rather invigorating to fuck a pregnant woman, like the elixir of life." He passed by his son and paused before the slender Bram.

"And you, my little catamite, I knew I should have had you castrated as your father was." He glanced dismissively at Caine.

"Anything I said to you would fail to impress you, you great dolt. There aren't many brain cells in that head of yours, are there?" He shook his head.

"Disappointments, the lot of you. Clarissa was the only one I thought might have sense enough to make something of herself and you managed to break her, Stephen. A pity, as she was a very clever interrogator once. Now I shall simply have to turn her over to Jameson and let him remind her of why it's best for her to keep me happy." He stepped toward the door.

"Come inside, lads, and don't misbehave or my men will have to kill you." He hesitated. "Well, they'll do that anyway, but I hate to have my reunion cut short." As he laughed, he went inside and the three prisoners were forced to follow as the men with guns pushed them forward.


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Notes: Hullo, nice people! We hope that you've enjoyed this story. It's rapidly coming to a close. Can't you just taste the ending that's coming? My, you all are a bloodthirsty lot, aren't you? LOL

Disclaimers: Nah, I don't own 'em. I lust after them, I admit, but their creators possess them in toto. I only snatch them for a few hours of playtime then back they go, none the worse for wear. Remember: it's only ink and it really does wash off.

**All's Well that Ends…..**

Atherton led his macabre procession through the heart of the house, straight to the dark-paneled study.

Stephen followed, his eyes darting from left to right as he looked for his lover or any sign of the occupants of the house. He saw nothing which made him feel marginally better. Clarissa must have taken the others through the passage to the old stables.

He hoped they were safely locked inside the large safe room, protected from Atherton's reach. He hoped too that he might have a chance to defeat Atherton's plans before the old man realized where they were. Caine radiated fury while Bram acted docile. Stephen wondered if the two were alright or had the appearance of the old man forced them back into the patterns they'd learned their whole lives.

Atherton seated himself in the big leather chair behind the mahogany desk, running his hands over the wood fondly. "You kept the desk," he lauded. "How lovely. I always did like it."

"It was my mother's," Stephen pointed out bitterly. "I certainly didn't keep it out of remembrance of you."

Atherton nodded. "Ah, yes, well," he said thoughtfully. "I always did prefer it to the later versions I have possessed." He smiled faintly. "Regardless, I am pleased to see it again. I never thought I would come back here, but it is pleasant to find something so familiar survived the emptying of the house." He rose again and moved toward the liquor cabinet. Opening it, he sighed in appreciation of the bottles inside. "Lovely," he murmured. "What should one drink at the execution of their family?"

Bram's head lifted, his dark eyes glittering dangerously. "Hopefully strychnine," he answered, the words carrying a flicker of rage. Stephen realized the younger man was far from cowed, instead looking for an opening, any chance of taking out the men that held them at gunpoint. Atherton glanced over, his expression amused.

"The homosexual speaks," he said mildly. "And with such a sharp tongue. I should let my men use you if your sister cannot be found." He half-smiled. "Of course, your tongue would be the first thing I have them remove."

Bram said nothing, his elegant face tight with fury. Caine moved slightly closer to his brother grimly. Atherton selected a snifter and poured a generous dose of brandy into it. As he swirled the glass in his hand, he returned to the desk and seated himself.

"Where, pray tell, could your sister be, lads?" he asked casually. "Jameson is rather eager to find her but he isn't as clever as she is. I suspect she's nearby, as she has always been too close to you both. She will no doubt be aware that you are in grave danger." He chuckled. "I suppose it will be eating her alive with nerves."

"Leave Clair alone," Caine said darkly. "She's out in the…" He stopped sharply, glancing at Bram. Bram gave him a stricken look. Atherton leaned forward.

"Where?" he demanded silkily. Caine shook his head, pressing his lips together. "In the old stables?"

Neither of the brothers spoke. Atherton gestured and a gun was leveled at Caine's temple. "I would prefer not to get bullet holes in the paneling," he said quietly. "But then I doubt the bullet will pierce that dense cranium of yours, Caine, once it has done its work in scrambling what brains you possess."

The big man lifted his head. "I won't tell you." His voice was steel, utterly inflexible. Atherton nodded.

"Who ever said chivalry was dead had no idea that anyone could be so stupid." He lifted his hand and Bram cried out.

"In the woods," he exclaimed. "She was out in the woods, she goes there to think often."

Caine turned to his brother and smacked his face with the back of his hand. "Traitor!" he snarled. Bram fell back with a soft cry, colliding with the man behind him. He slid down the man's legs to the floor, cradling his face with his hand. Atherton nodded, his blue eyes narrowed.

"Well done," he said. Gesturing to two of the gunmen, he gave them their orders. "You two, go out into the woods and sweep the area. My darling Clarissa will resist your persuasive arguments to return to the house but simply tell her that her brothers' brains will be spilled as a payment for her refusal."

Stephen stared at Atherton, his mind working furiously. Clarissa was probably in the safe room with Mim and Evey. It wouldn't take long for Atherton to learn of the reinforced room hidden at the end of the secret passage. He needed to get into the priest's hole, get his hands on his blades.

There were only two guards now in the room, Stephen recognized them from the village. One was the man Clarissa had stabbed with the darts, livid marks on his face revealed the half-healed damage to his cheek, while the other was the man Clarissa had beaten at the end of the game. Stephen frowned at them. What were their names? Oh, yes, Simon and Edgar. Only those two and Atherton were in the room. None of them were a match worthy of the name and surely he could get the boys to help take them down..

"Why have you come here?" he asked, knowing that his father liked to lecture and thinking that perhaps it would buy him time to think.

"Well, you revealed my hiding place at Burlwood to the provisional government, boy. You ruined my apartment in London. I tire of moving constantly, the peripatetic life is not something I enjoy." Atherton sipped his brandy. "When Jameson told me that Bram had been recovered, I put two and one together and found myself thinking that the three had been reunited. Then I considered you into the mix. You would never have turned your back upon Evelyn's bastards. Where were you most likely to have your sanctuary since your home under London was no longer safe?" The old man chuckled. "I thought of Gallowsmere then and I had the place put under surveillance." He shrugged. "Not too difficult to pick up the threads, Stephen. You are so very predictable, you know."

"You didn't know I was V," Stephen pointed out, pleased when the old man's expression darkened. "Not so predictable, Father."

"I knew you'd take the little bitch when she turned against me." Atherton got to his feet and began to pace. "And I was right."

Stephen watched Atherton carefully, looking for an opening, any possibility that he might take the old man down without harm to the two young men who stood beside him. The man who had masterminded the rise of the Fingermen was barely five feet from him and the vigilante wanted nothing quite so badly as to kill him barehanded. Mentally he reviewed his options and found little of use. "You tried to ruin her," he reminded Atherton. "Tried to break her will but she resisted..."

Atherton barked a laugh. "She has truly deceived you, Stephen," he interrupted. "She was my Chief Interrogator after you killed Creedy." He lifted his snifter in a mocking toast. "Did you really think that she was innocent? Did she tell you that I was some sort of evil Svengali, masterminding her transformation into a mindlessly obedient automaton?" He chuckled. "Clarissa knew that her best chance of survival lay in pleasing me. She feared the repercussions of disobedience, Stephen. She played the odds, first for my favor and then for yours. An opportunist of great skill, our little girl."

"You wanted her to serve you, Father." Stephen's eyes narrowed as he thought about what the old man said. "You made her hard but you didn't break her will. She had enough strength to beat you at your own game."

"My game?" Atherton snorted. "Really, boy, do you think I didn't know what I created in her? The perfect weapon against my enemies, fair of face but hiding a soul black with hate. She could kill without a second thought. Her hands were bloody, as bloody as yours, I would wager." He began to pace again. "She broke whomever I gave her, destroyed lives with the skills she perfected, and she came back for more." He smirked. "A straight-up Fingerman bitch; trained, tried and tested."

"Shut the fuck up, old man," Caine snarled from his place. "Clair isn't like that!"

Atherton paused. "As always, you are eager to reveal yourself as an ignorant ass, Caine. You haven't been reunited with your sister for two months and you still think of her as the pubescent victim you remember. Do you really think that 'Clair' is still that little innocent?" He hesitated, flicking a glance at Bram. "Haven't you told him?" he asked the beautiful brother. "Will you just let him continue on with his delusions of Clair's nonexistent perfection?"

Caine looked toward Bram, scowling, but something in his brother's face turned his brown eyes doubtful. "Bram?" The name held the barest edge of a question but Bram ignored him, his eyes riveted to the old man's face..

"Caine sees her better than most people do." Bram's reply was carefully measured. "You never understood her, Grandfather. You underestimate her and you have done so for years."

"Do I, my boy?" Atherton asked coldly. "I know exactly what she is capable of. I trained her, just as I trained you, and you know what she can do, just as you know what you can do. She's demonstrated her skills just as you have often enough." Shaking his head, Atherton lifted his glass in a mocking toast. "You were capable, I grant you, but Clarissa was gifted at her work."

"Only because you forced her to become gifted or suffer the consequences." Bram looked at Stephen. "She fought for her freedom the only way she could: playing by your rules until she had a chance to break away."

"She submitted to my will," Atherton snapped. "And when she returns with my men, I'll let you watch as she submits to them. You'll see that she knows when to fight and when to give in."

Caine's neck corded with strain as the man spoke, his skin flushing an alarming crimson. Bram lifted his chin. "She won't surrender to you again, Grandfather," he said quietly. "She's changed."

"Do you hear this?" Atherton demanded, turning to Stephen incredulously. "Can you believe this rubbish?" His amusement spilled into a rumbling laugh. "Clarissa Avery's reputation is that of a killer, no less than mine. She is an accomplished torturer, lads. As vicious as anyone I've ever known. She can't change that."

Stephen met his father's gaze and held it. "Clarissa did," he pointed out. "She lives in my home and I have watched her. I've seen her change from the inside out, bloom and thrive free of your influence. You've hurt her, you've damaged her, Father, but she's come out the other side with the promise of being whole again."

"You are as deluded as they are." Atherton sneered. " You took Clarissa in, healed her, loved her... That will make all the difference, won't it? No doubt you felt some pity for her, but you took a viper to your bosom, boy." Atherton knocked back the rest of his brandy. When he spoke again, his voice was roughened by the alcohol. "You're lucky she didn't kill you in your sleep, Stephen. Clarissa is clever and canny, deceptively beautiful.. She's the one you never expect..." The words trailed off as Atherton contemplated his words. "She's the one that you never expect to find with a knife at your back." he finished bitterly.

Behind Atherton, a flicker of slow movement caught Stephen's eye, signaling something strange. A panel in the wall eased open silently, visible only to Stephen for his superior height and position between the guards and the old man. Stephen kept a poker face, knowing that the priest hole was opening and not wanting to tip anyone off to the new arrival. His heart was in his mouth. A sliver of silver appeared at Atherton's throat and a voice softly shattered the sudden silence.

"Good afternoon, Grandfather. I never knew you were psychic." Atherton stiffened. "Tell your sheep to stand down and I won't slit your throat."

The old man's face was suddenly afraid. He gestured abruptly to his men, a jerky movement that spoke volumes of his reaction to the blade pressed into the softness of his throat. As soon as the rifles were lowered, the boys rounded on the men and battered them down so quickly that they never uttered a sound. Atherton stood motionless, watching impotently, as the silvered length of a knife creased his skin, just under his jaw.

Stephen slipped forward, circling Atherton to find Clarissa standing in the opening of the priest's hold, wrapped up in his cloak. Her hands full with two of his blades, one he'd seen but the other pointed at Atherton's kidneys. She was still, her face full of need and fury but white and still. Stephen eased his hands over hers, slipping the knives from her grasp. Freed, she fell back, huddling in the secret room, the black cloak making her seem painfully young and vulnerable. Stephen spared her a glance full of concern.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?" he asked gently. Her hands had been shaking on the hilts of the knives and she didn't look good even now, but she nodded silently.

"Good girl," he said. "Now close the panel, Clarissa, and wait for us to come back." She reached out and gave him a wan smile as she pushed the panel back into place. Stephen closed his eyes for a moment, grateful that she'd tipped the balance back in their favor. He turned his entire attention to the man standing before him. "Now, Father, there seems to be a few loose ends to tie up."

"Uncle Stephen," Bram said softly. The beautiful brother's face was harsh, like an avenging angel's. "There are two searching your house. One of them I have a very personal grudge against." His soft voice trembled with rage. "May I hunt on your land?" His brown eyes met Stephen's with a silent but desperate plea. Stephen smiled at his nephew's polite request.

"As you will, lad. Try not to wreck the house while you're at it. I'd prefer not to shed blood inside if possible."

Bram nodded and slid from the room, his footsteps soundless as he ghosted into the corridor. Caine looked at Stephen.

"Do you want me to help with these," he asked, indicating the men lying on the floor. "Or would you rather I took care of the ones in the woods?"

Stephen considered the question. "Perhaps we can take these three outside, Caine, and wait for Bram to finish? After that, I am all for a hunt through the woods." His smile was decidedly wolfish, eager for the idea. "Of course, we need to take the bodies up into the woods anyway. Have you ever been to the bog?" He nodded at the muscular young man.

"Yes, I have." Caine's eyes lit up with savage excitement, his sensual mouth curving wolfishly. "What have you in mind, Stephen?" The former vigilante nodded at his nephew then swung his gaze toward Atherton before answering.

"I am thinking that we make very certain this time that this never happens again."

-

-

-

Evey and Mim sat on one of the cots in the safe room, Evey's hands stroking the restless baby that rolled and kicked inside her at regular intervals. Mim eyed her nervously. "Are you alright?" he asked.

She nodded, her expression pensive. "It's been too long," she said quietly. "They would have come long ago if it weren't a real threat."

Mim folded his hands on his lap. "What will happen, do you think?" he asked worry in his light blue eyes. She turned troubled eyes toward him.

"Do you really want that answer, Mim?" At his nod, she shrugged. "Stephen will kill anyone who threatens his family."

Mim nodded, pondering the statement. "The police will be involved, then?"

"No."

Mim looked at her in surprise. "But I thought..." he began. Evey sighed and adjusted her position.

"Mim, what happens at Gallowsmere stays at Gallowsmere. Stephen will dispose of any…evidence that might remain and it will be as if nothing happened." She sighed again. "No offense meant but I rather wish he'd hurry up. I hate to wait."

"Do you think Bram will be safe? And the Princess?" Mim asked wistfully.

"I'm sure they will." Evey reached out to pat the slender man's shoulder. "They were Evelyn's children, after all. I can't imagine anyone standing against that unified front."

Almost as if her words were a key, the door rattled as the locks disengaged. It opened slowly to reveal three figures. Evey's eyes opened wide at the sight of Stephen's face. There was a dark happiness there, a satisfaction that she'd seen before. It told her blood had been shed and that the family still stood. She leaned forward. "Where's Clarissa?"

"In the priest hole," Stephen replied gravely. "We stopped here on our way back to the house." He held out his hand, so like he had that first night they'd met in a dark alley. "Come, Evey, time to go home."

She heaved herself up and went to him, putting her hand in his. Mim went to Bram, studying his lover's face. Bram looked incredibly peaceful as he took Mim's hand in his.

"Let's go back to the house," he said happily. Caine snorted at them, his eyes laughing despite his portrayal of disgust. His mood also seemed brighter than usual.

"Clair is waiting," he said, reminding them of the missing sibling. "She doesn't like waiting much and I hate when she's in a foul mood." Caine turned and led the way.

In the study, Stephen opened the priest hole and found Clarissa fast asleep, wrapped in his cloak. He reached in to touch her lightly.

She woke at the contact and her wide brown eyes searched his face. Panic shone from the dark eyes and Stephen smiled at her comfortingly.

"Come, Clarissa," he reassured her. "It's all over now. It's over forever."

She nodded and tried to rise but she was suddenly overcome with trembling. Bram reached for her, moving past Stephen and wrapping his arms around her gently before lifting her out of her hiding place. She buried her face in her brother's shoulder and burst into tears. Caine moved forward and embraced her from the other side, resting his head against her as he whispered to her.

Stephen and Evey left them with Mim and went into the kitchen. Evey wrapped her arms around Stephen, rubbing her cheek against his chest. "I take it the bog houses our unwelcome guests?" she whispered. He chuckled, the sound rumbling through her.

"It's a hungry bog," he said lightly. "But it's had its fill today." He looked down, tipping her face to his. "It was Atherton, Evey." Her sweet face turned horrified at the admission. "He will not be coming back this time." He filled her in quickly, leaving out the gory details like the stake Caine had pounded through Atherton's heart to insure the old man stayed down.

Evey glanced in the direction of the study.

"Is Clarissa going to be alright?" she asked. "She's not been…quite herself lately."

Something in her voice made him hesitate. "Other than missing Eric, you mean?"

She frowned up at him. "I can't tell you, she asked me to keep it confident." She nibbled her lower lip worriedly. He frowned at her in reply.

"Evey?" His face warned her that he would not accept his current state of ignorance as bliss. She laid a hand on his chest, surrendering to his unspoken rebuke.

"No farther?" she asked. He nodded. "You'd make a Great Uncle Stephen."

For a moment he was perplexed then understanding dawned in his eyes. "Oh, no," he whispered. "Eric's?"

"Yes, of course." She shook her head at his sudden expression of hope. "She's not going to tell him, Stephen. She plans on giving it to him when it's born. She found out a week ago and she's afraid it won't make it." Her hands dropped to her own belly, feeling the baby kick. "It will kill her to let it go, Stephen. They need to get back together but I'm afraid they won't."

He covered her hand with his own. "Beloved Evey, love will find a way. For now we'll watch and wait. Something will happen. You can't run away from the one you love forever. God knows I couldn't stay away from you." He bent down to kiss her lips. "I love you more than my life, you know."

She smiled up at him, adoring him. "I knew you would come for us in the safe room. I simply wish you'd been a little quicker." She reached up and ruffled his hair with her fingertips.

"We worked as quickly as we could," he protested teasing her with a smile. "The boys were excellent help, I couldn't have asked for better. Even Clarissa pulled her weight." Stephen sighed. "This is some family you're marrying into, my heart. Do you think you're ready?"

"I married into it ages ago," she said. "But I would love to carry your name as well as your baby."

"Good. Because I am not letting you change your mind now." He scooped her up in his arms and grinned at her. "What say we go into town tomorrow and visit the registrar's office? Make it official and all?"

Her mouth dropped open. "Do you mean it?"

"Never more serious," he assured her. "All's well that ends well, right?"

**Finis for Now**


End file.
